


The Tales of Poplar

by LonelyIntrovert



Category: Call the Midwife, pupcake - Fandom
Genre: F/F, Gen
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2016-06-01
Updated: 2016-09-25
Packaged: 2018-07-11 14:29:18
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 12
Words: 23,691
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/7056343
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/LonelyIntrovert/pseuds/LonelyIntrovert
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>One-shots of the Nonnatus inhabitants and all of their shenanigans; centered around Pupcake</p><p>Beware of some language, fluff, cuteness overload, and canon friendships</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. The Heat of Poplar

It was hotter than balls.

Maybe that analogy sounds strange coming from a woman who naturally is NOT attracted to such appendages, but her stint on Men’s Surgical really did a number on her. So as Patsy Mount lay there, sweating her ass off at one in the morning, this was the only thought running through her mind.

Poplar had been experiencing a hot spell for the last week. The whole community had relocated into their homes, posting themselves next to their ice boxes or fans in a vain attempt to cool themselves off. It made delivering babies extremely treacherous; trying to cool the mother off with cold water while also wiping the sweat away from their own faces. Everything seemed to slow down. No children played in the streets; people took refuge in their houses and napped in their cool, dark rooms. 

That was all fine and dandy for them, but not for the inhabitants of the Nonnatus, for there was no air flow in the old, humid building. Now, Patsy normally would have prided herself on being able to withstand an extraordinary amount of heat; being in an internment camp in the south pacific and all.

But even back then, the nights were cooler than in her room at that moment. Patsy glanced mutinously at her window for the umpteenth time, triple-checking it was open to its full extent. The humid air of her and Trixie’s room refused to budge however, due to the lack of breeze outside. Trixie, having been called out earlier that night, more than likely was enjoying some form of air movement in someone else’s home, and for a moment Patsy was terribly jealous. The ginger rolled over with a groan, her body hot and slick with sweat. She had taken to sleeping on top of her covers, save for the linen that covered her fitted sheet, for the sake of propriety. The midwives had all admitted to each other that during the heat spell, they would all abandon their usual nightclothes for a simple slip, panties and a brassiere, or go completely nude.

Patsy had not reached the point of complete nudity, but was seriously considering it.

She had slept naked with Delia in Paris on many a hot, dreamy, romantic night, but the nunnery was hardly the place. On top of that, Patsy would not want to scar Trixie for life. But, who knew; maybe they would stoop that low if this hell lasted any longer. 

Patsy released a huff and rolled up, admitting defeat. She had been periodically waking up for the past several nights like this, and she was getting desperate for relief. The ginger gathered up her linen and pillow, wishing to relocate.

Patsy tip-toed down the stairs, wincing as the floor boards creaked under her weight. Patsy took a detour to the kitchen for a glass of water, then made her way to the living room, only to see that Nurse Crane had already posted herself on the couch, dressed in curlers and sprawled out, one arm dangling over the edge. As the older woman continued to snore, Patsy drew a blank on where to try next. Patsy stood in the doorway and bit her lip as she glanced at the window, leading to the garden. 

Fuck it.

It was literally that hot.

Clad in only her undergarments, the dignified Scouts leader stalked towards the door, preparing to sleep on the patio furniture outside. Cracking the door open, Patsy made it two steps before tripping over a figure on the ground.

“What the…”

Patsy stumbled and looked down, to see the most bizarre scene.

Delia and Barbara lay on the grass preceding the garden, Delia being the one Patsy tripped over. They were not sleeping together; rather, one appeared to find the other and decided to try it out as well. Both were rolled up in their own covers, though Delia was the only one to have brought a pillow. At being kicked, the brunette cracked an eyelid and gazed up at Patsy irritably.

“Do you mind?” Delia asked in a not very civilized tone, not being a very good morning person.

“I’m sorry,” Patsy said earnestly, kneeling down, “Why aren’t you-”

“Could you two keep it down? I’m and trying to see if Mars will cast its terrible spell over us much longer,” came Sister Monica-Joan’s voice from the only patio chair, a meters feet away. Patsy raised her eyebrows, but knew better to say anything. Instead, she turned back to Delia.

“Are you decent?” Without answering, the brunette pulled down her bed cover to reveal that she had abandoned her conservative Welsh nightgowns for her brassiere and panties. Patsy rolled her eyes.

“What if people see you?” Patsy whispered, trying not to disturb Sister Monica-Joan or wake Barbara. 

“Look who’s talking,” Delia said back, gesturing to Patsy’s lack of dress, “And besides, I just heard the Jones’ boys arguing over who gets the patio furniture a half an hour ago.” With a frown, Patsy realized that her idea wasn’t as original as she thought.

“Scoot over,” Patsy whispered. The shorter woman rolled to the side, and Patsy took Delia’s bed covers and laid them completely on the ground, allowing her to lie down next to her girlfriend on the thicker fabric. She then spread her thinner bed linen over them, not as a source of warmth, but rather for propriety. The cool night air, something Patsy had been dying to feel, soothed her inflamed and sweaty skin. It felt strange, being with Delia like this in the full view of her coworkers, but it would easily pass as a friendly gesture. 

“Pats, it’s so damn hot,” Delia mumbled, half asleep, “It was never this hot in Wales…ever.”

“Shh, you sound like your mother,” Patsy whispered back, chuckling.

“Shut it.”

“This reminds me of Paris, Deels,” Pasty murmured after a moment, too quiet for anyone to overhear. Delia’s bleary eyes shot open, and for a moment Patsy’s heart stopped beating as Delia shot her a very flirtatious look.

“What part?” Delia asked scandalously. Patsy glanced at Barbara’s slumbering form before leaning closer and seductively whispering very specific details of their trip, ending with a soft brush of fingertips against skin that grew hot, the cause unrelated to the temperature. 

Delia suddenly pulled back, making Patsy instinctively roll away from her, just in time to see the door open.

“Well, it seems I’ve found ALL of you,” Trixie said hotly, dressed in a swim suit, “The Dickerson’s live over a bakery that’s been cooking nonstop and their home feels like an oven! I had to put Mrs. Dickerson in an ice bath!”

The blonde woman rolled out a yoga mat at their feet and threw a damp towel over herself.

“Good night,” Trixie said, to no one in particular.

“Good night, Trixie,” Patsy responded, her voice an octave high. Delia pretended to be asleep, and Barbara continued to lightly snore.  
“…Now will you please be silent?! You are disturbing the cosmos! The heavens are trying to communicate!”

“Praise, Sister Monica Joan,” Delia muttered quietly, so that only Patsy could hear.


	2. An Awkward Situation

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Patsy and Delia find that they are not as alone as they originally thought

It was finally pay day.

Patsy had rushed through her last district rounds, an extra spring in her step. Both she and Delia had the Friday night off, and Patsy had a pocket full of money to burn at Gateways. She tripped up the steps of Nonnatus after twittering, “Hello, Fred!” to the handy man.

“Oh, hello Nurse Mo-” Fred began, only to see the red-haired nurse was already gone.

Patsy returned her tools to the autoclave in a flash, and then dashed up the stairs, past a bewildered Barbara. She changed out of her uniform and tossed it aside before throwing on a casual dress that wouldn’t attract too much attention. She then trotted to Delia’s door and rapped on it expectantly.

“Come in!” Delia practically sang.

Patsy slipped into the room and shut the door, leaning on the wooden frame as she gazed hungrily at her girlfriend. The brunette was concentrating in a mirror, applying some last minute touches to her hair. She wore a stunning dress and looked absolutely breathtaking. 

“Ah, Pats,” Delia said without looking, “Can you zip me up?”

In her observation, Patsy had failed to notice a slit of bare skin exposed on Delia’s back as the dress parted when she shifted. The ginger stepped forward and went to grasp the zipper, but instead found her hands on Delia’s waist. 

“Wrong place, Nurse Mount,” Delia chortled, “Never imagined you would ever get lost anatomically.”

“I’m not lost,” Patsy hummed into Delia’s ear as she slipped her hands into the dress and traced her fingers along her navel, drawing a gasp from the other. Patsy nuzzled Delia’s shoulder before placing a trail of kisses up her neck, ending on her cheek.

“Someone’s in a good mood,” Delia observed, tilting her head to the side, exposing more flesh for Patsy to explore. Delia’s eyes fluttered as Patsy’s teeth gently tugged on an earlobe as her hands wandered up further and grazed over Delia’s bust.

“Patsy, we’re are going to be late,” Delia complained, though she leaned into Patsy’s touch and the two began to softly sway side to side.

“Hmm.”

There was a brisk knock on the door.

Patsy leapt back before quickly zipping up Delia’s dress, throwing herself on the bed as Delia called out, her voice an octave high, “Come in!”

The door opened and a nonchalant Trixie entered.

“I’m terribly sorry,” the blonde said, placing her hands on her hips, “but you wouldn’t happen to have some hair lacquer? I seem to have run out.”

“Uh, yes, right there,” Delia pointed, attempting to not look guilty.

“Oh, you’re an angel,” Trixie said, oblivious to the tension in the room as she grabbed it and left, shutting the door behind her.

The two looked at each other before dissolving into shaky laughter.

“You’re right, we should go,” Patsy sighed.

 

*****^*****

 

Delia was slightly intoxicated. She knew she was because her head pleasantly buzzed when Patsy twirled her around, the ginger giggling as an unlit cigarette hung limply out of her mouth. Patsy had been buying her girlfriend cocktails all night, and Delia had no choice but to drink, feeling liberated by the beverages. Patsy had reassured her that she would not be drinking, so Delia had a loving babysitter to escort her home when the night was through. 

Patsy pulled Delia back into her embrace, her hands roaming along Delia’s waist, leaving a tingling sensation in the pit of her stomach. 

“I have to light this,” Patsy said in Delia’s ear, over the music. Hands clasping together, Patsy guided Delia to the bar, where she searched her pockets for a lighter.

“Damn it,” Patsy muttered.

“Need a light, love?” a woman asked, on the other side of the bar.

“If you wouldn’t mind…” Patsy sighed dejectedly. Delia snorted, a little louder than normally, at the sight of Patsy lighting up.

“I’m sorry, Deels,” Patsy said softly, “I haven’t had one all day. I’ll make it up to you tonight.”

“You better!” Delia slurred, not missing the mischievous glint in Patsy’s eye. Patsy turned to the bartender and ordered another cocktail.

 

*****^*****

 

The next morning was quite treacherous for both women. Patsy had to sneak out of her lover’s embrace just before dawn, trying to still think of a good excuse for showing up in her shared room at that ungodly hour. Delia had her own troubles; oversleeping slightly with a pounding migraine and the scent of scotch and lover’s musk still on her. The brunette tip-toed into the bathroom and took a cold bath, because she couldn’t wait for the hot water and also to wake herself up more. After attempting to tame her normally meticulously-made hair, the Welshwoman gave up, threw on her uniform and hobbled down the steps, hiding her sensitive eyes from the rude light. She had missed breakfast, which was probably for the best, so she shoved some biscuits in her mouth and swallowed some aspirin before setting off for the parish hall to help with the clinic.

Delia entered the crowded room inconspicuously, and effectively avoided detection before sneaking into the backroom. She at once spotted Patsy sitting at the table, the urine testing apparatus sitting in front of her as she leaned her head on her hands, her eyelids fluttering as she began to fall asleep.

“Patsy!” Delia said sharply. The ginger jerked up, looking wildly around before finally realizing Delia was the only one present.

“Huh?”

“I see you aren’t faring much better,” Delia sighed, “What did I miss?” 

“I didn’t expect you to wake up this early,” Patsy said sheepishly with a yawn, “I told them you had a cold, so they wouldn’t expect you till at least the afternoon.” Delia rolled her eyes.

“I wasn’t THAT drunk,” the Welshwoman said, swelling with pride, “I like to think I can hold my liquor better than that!”

“Yes, you can,” Patsy surrendered, messaging her temples, “Here, you might as well see some patients if you are here then.” Patsy handed Delia a clipboard, and the brunette went back to the main room, her eyes running over the crowd of women. She then froze, balked, and then quickly backed up behind a curtain. 

“Oh, cripes!” Delia squeaked.

The brunette dashed back into the backroom.

 

*****^*****

 

“Are you completely sure?” Patsy hissed nervously, peering beyond the curtain, over Delia’s head.

“Yes, that one right there! With the yellow jumper!”

“Oh…God,” Patsy breathed.

“Isn’t that the one?” Delia asked cautiously. The woman in question sat idly, reapplying make-up with a small hand-held mirror.

“I…it could be, I don’t know! I was a little distracted!” Patsy stammered. Delia shot Patsy an exasperated look.

“Well I was sloshed!”

“I would have noticed if there was a pregnant woman there,” Patsy said evasively.

“Not if she was sitting at the bar!”

“Oh, gosh, was she drinking?” Patsy asked, suddenly concerned for the baby’s health.

“No, I don’t – dear Lord, Pats, what are we going to do?!”

“I don’t know,” Patsy whispered, “She wouldn’t tell anyone…she couldn’t, she’ll give herself away as well.”

The ginger’s point was logical enough to slightly calm Delia’s racing heart.

“Nurse Busby,” a familiar voice said, “We were not expecting your presence in clinic today. You look pale, are you quite well?” 

“I’m fine, Nurse Crane, just a slight head cold,” Delia reassured quickly.

“Ah. Well, would you please take Mrs. Jackson, she has been waiting for quite a while now,” Nurse Crane said, pointing at the woman that Patsy and Delia were spying upon. 

Delia’s jaw dropped, though Phyllis did not notice as she turned to briskly tell off some children for playing near the curtain.

“Pats!” Delia hissed, panicked.

The ginger shared an equally stricken look before shrugging and edging towards the backroom, Trixie attempting to catch her gaze by waving a urine sample in the air.

Returning to the crowd, Delia placed a false smile on her face before saying lightly, “Mrs. Jackson?”

 

*****^*****

 

Sweating slightly in her uniform, Delia forced her gaze down as she pulled the curtain closed, Mrs. Jackson having successfully gotten in without recognizing the brunette. The light-haired woman casually seated herself on the cot, still attempting to replace her mirror in her handbag. Delia turned her back on her patient, hands shaking slightly as she looked over Mrs. Jackson’s notes.

“…nurse?”

Delia jerked, the woman’s voice catching her off guard.

“Yes, Mrs. Jackson?”

“I asked if it was okay if-” the blonde woman broke off as she looked properly at Delia now, her eyes roaming up and down her body, taking her in. Delia’s face went pink as Mrs. Jackson’s eyes widened with recognition and the two stared at each other in shocked silence. 

“…I see that this is your third visit, Mrs. Jackson,” Delia said in a trembling voice, trying to push things along. After a moment, a sly smile touched the pregnant woman’s face.

“Why, you dark horse, you,” she breathed softly, despite Delia’s attempts at changing the subject. Delia went mute, not knowing how to respond.

“Don’t worry, your secret’s safe with me…that is, if mine…” Mrs. Jackson trailed off, a worried look coming across her face.

Delia blinked.

She then smiled pleasantly.

“Dear me, Mrs. Jackson, I don’t seem to know WHAT you are talking about,” the Welshwoman said with a wink and dimpled smile, indicating that she absolutely did know what the other was talking about. The two shared a tentative smile, before Delia finished her examination and the blonde woman left.

Whenever Patsy and Delia saw her at Gateways, the pair would always inquire about the progression of her pregnancy and the three became well acquainted. The incident helped the two midwives realize that any professional recognition from the club would go under the radar, and that they needn’t worry about their secret getting out.


	3. Nurse Busby's First Patient

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Touching, yet heartbreaking  
> Delia's first official patient as a Nonnutan(?)  
> Fluff, but mostly character development and Nurse Crane/Nurse Busby action
> 
> Please leave a comment, I love getting feedback!

*Flashback*

Delia’s midwifery training was completed in record timing and before anyone knew it, the brunette was fanning herself with her brand new certificate. Upon receiving it, the young Welshwoman expected to be flung into the rota, just as the nurses had before her.

But, it was not to be.

The inhabitants of the Nonnatus House were exceedingly protective over their maternity patients, and not that they didn’t trust Delia, but she was brand new to the practice. She was allowed at the clinic on Tuesdays, but any unsupervised care was strictly prohibited. The only nurse to observe her at work was Patsy, and she was not considered a head of staff. Not only that, but there was the small problem with the bike.

Delia had sworn up and down she could ride one properly, especially since she took a bicycle safety course a few months prior. Even after this information, Patsy was still uneasy about letting her cycle around Poplar. 

So, when they all sat down for dinner the day after Delia received her Midwifery Certificate, they all hushed rather quickly when Sister Julienne addressed the exuberant brunette.

“Nurse Busby,” Sister Julienne said in her soft, yet weighty voice.

“Yes, Sister?” the other responded brightly.

“While we all wish to congratulate you on your accomplishment, I’m afraid that we cannot allow you to administer unsupervised care to our pregnant patients. You’ll be on District rounds with Nurse Crane for two weeks, and after that you will go on-call with another midwife until we deem you fit for unsupervised duty.”

There was the briefest of pauses as Delia blinked before her face regained its composure and she said, “Yes, of course, Sister.”

The dinner returned to its celebratory atmosphere, but the only person who noticed Delia’s plastered smile was Patsy. It humored the ginger how, especially the nuns, (who were in fact, not at all very close with Delia), just assumed that Delia was some sort of small Welsh munchkin who was not capable of any resentment whatsoever. The idea, of course, was absolutely laughable, bordering on ridiculous. The brunette was in fact very aware of her surroundings, and knew when and when not to express her actual feelings.

It was not until later that night that Patsy heard what those feelings were.

“…I mean, I’ve lived here for six months, you’d think they’d treat me a little different than a brand new nurse,” Delia had said bitterly, “I’m being treated like a two year-old.”

Patsy, who had found Delia’s distress to be endearing enough to make her the small spoon, simply stroked her head while releasing a forlorn sigh.

“I know, sweetie,” Patsy said in a slightly neutral tone. She was quietly thankful that Nurse Crane would be driving Delia around Poplar for two weeks. It would be good for the brunette to get comfortable with the streets, though the Welshwoman didn’t need to hear that just then.

She just needed a good vent.

 

So the next morning, all the nurses gathering downstairs, all in freshly pressed and starched uniforms. After assigning rounds, Nurse Crane turned to a wary Delia, carrying her bag and wearing her mackintosh and cape. 

“Ready, Nurse Busby?” Nurse Crane inquired, as the other nurses filed out of the room. Patsy glanced worriedly at her girlfriend, the look going unmissed by the senior nurse.

“Of course, Nurse Crane,” Delia chirped, showing a dimpled smile.

“Phyllis, please,” Nurse Crane said before gesturing for the brunette to lead the way.

 

Three stops later, Delia was struggling to keep up.

It wasn’t because it was too strenuous, nor because she didn’t know what to do, but because there was so much going on! Completely unlike Men’s Surgical, which were hushed tones, strict rules, and constantly glancing at the clock; District rounds were bustling streets, yelling salesmen, and treating the most random collection of ailments.

Delia found it both exhilarating and nerve-wracking.

She was so busy staring in awe at her surroundings, she would miss something Nurse Crane said and the older woman would have to repeat herself. Phyllis only seemed mildly bothered however, she seemed to understand and respect Delia’s awe. There were some insulin injections, bandages that needed to be changed; patients that needed evaluation, and disabled that needed care.

“Come along, Nurse Busby,” Phyllis called as she opened up her car door. With an eager skip in her step, Delia clasped her bag and darted to the passenger side before placing her bag in the back. Once they were both comfortably seated, Phyllis consulted her clipboard, running down the names and addresses of patients.

“…oh, dear,” Nurse Crane murmured, her face falling.

“Nur – Phyllis?” Delia stammered, concerned.

“Our next patient…seems to be a terminally ill one,” the older nurse breathed softly, glancing worriedly at her companion. Delia blinked, long and slow. 

“…oh,” the brunette managed.

“It is dementia, I’m afraid,” Phyllis continued, observing Delia critically, “We are there to evaluate the patient’s memory…or lack thereof.”

“Yes, Nurse Crane,” Delia said dutifully, though her heart fluttered at the word ‘dementia’. At Delia’s acceptance of the burden, Nurse Crane gave a nod of approval before starting the car and driving to their destination.

 

The house was located in a nicer part of town, and the street was strangely quiet as they mounted the steps to the flat. Nurse Crane rapped on the door, and there was the slightest of pauses before a middle-aged woman cracked it open.

“Ah, Nurse Crane, how lovely to see you!” the woman said. Delia couldn’t help but notice that her smile seemed drawn and didn’t reach her eyes. The woman ushered them into a darkened corridor.

“I’m afraid you were last on the rota, Franny,” Nurse Crane said apologetically, “Franny, this is Nurse Busby, and she will be joining me on District rounds for the next few weeks to get her accustomed to the area.”

“It’s a pleasure,” Franny said, shaking hands with the brunette. Her grasp was firm, but gentle. 

“Would you two like some tea? I just popped the kettle on,” Franny said, escorting them to rather spotless kitchen. 

“Yes, that would be lovely,” Nurse Crane said, placing her bag on the counter. This surprised Delia; at the other stops, Nurse Crane refused any offering of tea, and did not seem nearly as relaxed as she was then.

“Franny, where is Mr. Donahue? I would like Nurse Busby to evaluate him so we can get out of your hair as soon as possible.”

“He’s in the parlor, through there, Nurse,” Franny said, pointing with a spoon, “He’s gone mute the past few days, don’t expect much talking.” 

“Well, here you go,” Nurse Crane said, shoving the clipboard in Delia’s bewildered hands, “just add on any changes to this date.”

Frowning slightly, Delia nervously glanced back before stalking further into the darkened house, into the parlor.

 

The parlor was eerily dim as Delia cautiously looked around for her patient. Mr. Donahue sat in an armchair, eyeing her belatedly, a pile of papers scattered around his feet. He seemed extremely pleased to be in the presence of someone new, so much so that his eyes crinkled at the corners as the largest smile spread across his face. 

“Mr. Donahue?” Delia asked, stepping towards him. The patient did not appear to recognize what she had said, but rather reacted at her voice, legs squirming with excitement. 

Delia bit her lip.

His reaction was cute, in a sad and depressing fashion. Moving over the scattered paper, which appeared to get well cards from young children, Delia seated herself in the opposite armchair. She cautiously reached across to take his pulse, which he seemed to not mind in the slightest, drooling slightly out of the side of his mouth. Squinting in the dimness, Delia realized she could hardly read the form in her hand.

“May I turn this light on, Mr. Donahue?” The old man wriggled at the sound of her voice delightedly. Taking this as a ‘yes’, Delia flicked on the lamp and quickly scribbled some notes down. Turning back to her patient, Delia wrote a few more observations about his activity and reaction to her presence. 

Consulting a list of family members, Delia swallowed before asking the required questions.

“Do you remember your late wife, Mr. Donahue?” 

“Do you remember how many children you have? Their names or ages?”

“Do you know where you are?”

“Do you remember your birth date?”

Delia gave up, her patient seeming to not even take in what was happening around him. He gazed about the room amiably, touching anything he could get his hands on. The lampshade, the side table, the arm of the chair, his robe, a crayon…

A crayon.

Delia sat up a little straighter, feeling her stomach plummet in quiet despair. Leaning down, Delia plucked up a piece of paper, green crayon scribbled on it. 

Mr. Donahue was holding a green crayon.

Those papers were NOT from children.

They were drawn by HIM.

At the sight of her holding a piece of paper, Mr. Donahue beamed, extending a hand eagerly towards it. Mind going numb, Delia silently handed it over to him. The 79 year-old man then proceeded to scribble, holding the crayon like a two year-old. Upon witnessing what he had wrought, (just a bunch of green loops), he began to giggle gleefully before shoving it back at Delia. At the sound of his laughter, Delia choked out a laugh, though it was not from amusement. It was panicked and shocked, and several tears of sadness escaped from her eyes as she tried to catch her breath. 

At the sight of her tears, Mr. Donahue recoiled, looking as if he was going to cry as well. 

“I…oh, dear, Mr. Donahue, I’m fine, here, please, draw me another,” Delia pleaded, drying her eyes as she handed him another piece of paper. At the sight of the paper, his face brightened considerably and he continued to scribble excitedly.

 

Three ‘pictures’ later, Nurse Crane entered and announced they should be leaving. The older Nurse glanced at Mr. Donahue’s cheery form before gesturing for Delia to hurry up. The brunette muttered a good bye to her patient, (Mr. Donahue bubbled drool in response), and gathered up her belongings before dashing out of the room. The nurses bid farewell to Franny before climbing into the car and driving silently home. If Nurse Crane noticed Delia’s red eyes or the crumpled pieces of paper in her hand, she didn’t say anything.

When the pair pulled up the drive they sat there for a good moment before Delia broke the silence.

“How…how much longer?” she whispered, fighting off tears. Phyllis sighed forlornly.

“I can never tell…one day they are lucid and talkative, the next day they are confused and angry. Then they get to this point, and it’s only a matter of time.”

In response to Delia’s silence, Nurse Crane continued:

“Mr. Donahue is a terribly kind man who has lived a long life. I know it is distressing to see him like this, and he may not appear to be, but he is in fact in a lot of pain.” Delia nodded as silent tears slipped down her cheek.

 

Delia had a lot to think about that evening. She had found herself in her room, still dressed in her uniform two hours after her shift ended. Numbly, she sat at her desk and removed Mr. Donahue’s pictures, placing them in front of her and observing them in silence. Then, the brunette plucked up a pen and in the corner of each paper, wrote, “Mr. James Donahue; May 18th, 1963.”

She then placed them in a drawer before laying down on her bed, lost in thought.

 

Delia was so lost in thought that she didn’t move when her door opened an hour later. She heard soft foot-falls on the hardwood and then her bed dipped as weight was added to it. Fingers gently wedged themselves under her chin and lifted her head before she was met with a gentle and loving kiss that would have lasted for an eternity…had she been kissing back. 

Patsy broke off, looking worried.

“Deels, are you okay?” Patsy murmured, brushing some hair out of Delia’s face. As if coming out of a coma, Delia took in her surroundings – and then the crushing sadness of the day came crashing over her like a tidal wave. Delia lunged into Patsy’s chest, burying herself there, taking in the ginger’s scent and her warmth.

“Delia?! What happened, did Nurse Crane do something to you?!” Patsy demanded, hands fluttering over the brunette’s body. Delia released a choked laugh. It humored her that her beloved Patsy automatically assumed that she had been wronged by someone, and that she was so ready to confront them about it. For a moment, Delia tried to visualize an argument between the two.

They’d probably end up killing each other, to be honest.

“No, Nurse Crane was an absolute lamb,” Delia soothed, “I…I just…I’ve had a bad day.”

“Why, what happened darling?” Patsy asked softly, her fingers trailing aimlessly over Delia’s face. 

“One of our patients…Mr. Donahue…” 

Patsy’s face cleared. And then it fell.

“Oh, no, Deels, I’m so sorry,” Patsy whispered, pulling the brunette in for a hug, “How bad is he?”

“He’s not far off,” Delia mumbled, the first of many tears escaping her eyes and soaking Patsy’s uniform. The taller woman wordlessly rubbed Delia’s back as the other continued to cry.

 

Over the next few days, Delia went along with Nurse Crane to the Donahue residence to observe Mr. Donahue’s dissent into madness. Truly, the man was a sweetheart, but it was almost unbearable to watch him gaze at something arbitrary, like a lamp, with child-like awe. Delia nearly always had to force a smile on her lips and felt vaguely as if she had returned to clinic, using her gentle yet firm tone that she reserved only for misbehaving children. Mr. Donahue quickly moved on from actually coloring and went on a more destructive path; throwing things.

That particular day was extremely treacherous for all parties involved.

But then the day came when Mr. Donahue would not respond to any stimulus whatsoever. Sure, he was alive, heart beating, breathing, but he was an empty husk, staring into nothingness as Delia took his pulse. 

That day lasted for an eternity.

The two sat there and stared at each other for forty-five minutes as Nurse Crane and Franny discussed other living aspects in the kitchen. When Phyllis arrived to announce their departure, Delia reached down and squeezed his hand before leaving the parlor. She left Mr. Donahue in a room full of memories: photographs of his family, letters of correspondence from during the war, and even pictures that both he and Delia drew together. And yet, he recognized none of it. He was a stranger in his own home.

 

So, it didn’t come as a surprise the next day when Nurse Crane delivered the sad news at breakfast.

“Mr. Donahue has passed,” she had said. Delia put on a brave face and pushed through it, believing she had already accepted the fact he was going to die.

But then something truly extraordinary happened that night.

Nurse Crane showed up to dinner late, wildly waving a white envelope in the air. The whole dining room went silent at her entrance. 

Panting, Phyllis extended the envelope to a stunned Delia. Wordlessly, confusedly, the Welshwoman tore it open, the sound unnaturally loud in the room. Removing the folded piece of paper, the whole room seemed to hold their breath as Delia delicately unfolded it.

The brunette stared at the paper before her hands began to tremble violently.

“Please, excuse me,” Delia gasped, dropping the paper on the table and bolting from the room. Bewildered, Patsy glanced at Delia’s receding form before leaning over to view the paper.

The first thing she noticed were streaks of green crayon.

And then how the streaks had elegantly formed into the image of a woman with a kind face and dimpled cheeks.

And then she noticed the lettering at the top, which read, “To Delia”, and at the bottom, which said, “From James Donahue. May, 1963.”

The image appeared to be drawn with shaky hands, and some of Delia’s proportions were not correct. But, there was no mistaking who the woman was on the page, how the artist viewed her, and how he managed to draw the masterpiece with a CRAYON.


	4. The Carnival

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> The Carnival is in town and all the midwives go out for a night of fun
> 
> Barbara plays bingo, Delia gets a teddy bear, and just canon friendships all around.
> 
> Comic relief

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I hope you enjoy! Please leave a comment, I love getting feedback!

The Summer Festival was finally in Poplar. 

There had been so much hype about it and for a good while everyone had thought it a rumor. But it was there, and no one was more excited than the inhabitants of Nonnatus. The Sisters were all excited because the festival was raising money for some obscure fund that would help children in Africa, and the midwives were just excited for a collective break from the rota. So, when the night came for the midwives to venture out on the night, they took full advantage.

At around four thirty, every single nurse was found crowded inside Patsy’s and Trixie’s room, trying to apply last minute make-up and gossiping about what had occurred that day during clinic. Trixie had of course claimed the largest mirror; Patsy tried to brush up her hair in a hand-held mirror, Delia had been smart enough to finish getting ready in her own room, Barbara waited helplessly for a turn, and Phyllis sat placidly on Trixie’s bed as she flipped through a magazine.

“Oh, dear, I do hope this dress doesn’t get dirty,” Trixie fretted, brushing some mascara on. 

“Well, it’s a carnival, not a roll around in the-” Phyllis broke off, and the other midwives turned to gape at her.

“…well, I was going to say ‘hay’, but I’ll change it to ‘mud’.”

The women burst out laughing heartedly, their cheeks going bright red.

After a few more minutes of fussing over their appearance, they ventured outside to enjoy a night of fun.

 

Before they knew it, they had split up into groups. Trixie with Phyllis, (an odd pair), Delia and Patsy, (not unexpected), and Barbara and Tom, (a given).

 

Trixie and Phyllis found themselves talking amiably with past patients as they walked their children from ride to ride. Trixie bought a bag of popcorn, and the two shared it as they absorbed the sights, sounds, and smells of the carnival. 

 

Patsy and Delia gleefully plunged themselves into the crowd, looking for any excuse to grasp each other’s hands as they navigated through the people. Patsy smiled at any cubs that passed by and simply shook her head when Delia disappeared for a minute and returned with a wad of cotton candy. They were walking by the vendors when Patsy got goaded into trying the Strong Man Challenge, (it wasn’t hard for the vendor to persuade her when she saw Delia eyeing the largest Teddy Bear there). So, with a cigarette hanging out of her mouth and a host of cubs standing in shock around her, (along with some of their mothers, they weren’t really sure why the ever so pristine Nurse Mount was wearing SLACKS), Patsy brought the hammer down, and the bell dinged a second later with a resounding clang. The cubs cheered, but when Patsy pointed determinedly at the brown Teddy Bear, the vendor shook his head.

“Those prizes are for this one,” he said with a chuckle, gesturing towards an apparatus that was a good six feet taller than the one Patsy rang. 

Patsy turned slightly to glance at Delia.

Wordlessly, the ginger gestured towards the hammer, a questioning look on her face.

A smirk touched Delia’s now impish expression as she accepted the sledgehammer from Patsy. Slinging it easily over her shoulder, the Welshwoman stepped up to the platform, the vendor gaping at her in shock. Patsy smugly puffed on her cigarette as her girlfriend brought it down with much more force than she had, and the ball was flung up into the bell. When it clanged, the small crowd roared, and Patsy breezily stepped behind a stunned vendor to claim their prize.

As they walked away chuckling, Patsy almost shyly handed the bear over to Delia, and the two adventured on through the festival.

 

Barbara was having a fun time; ‘was’ being past tense. She and Tom meandered through the carnival, and he was kind enough to buy her a candied apple. They talked lightly and were considering playing some games when one of his parishioners ran up to him, apparently having some sort of religious crisis. 

Now, being the daughter of a vicar and all, Barbara would have normally been sympathetic as the parishioner dragged Tom away. But that night, Barbara was very bitter; of all nights, the man chose to have a religious crisis on the one night of the week that Nurse Gilbert had off?!

Someone better have seen the devil himself.

So Barbara was left wandering the festival alone, absentmindedly munching on her candied apple. Until…

“B-3…B-3,” a voice said from a large tent to her right. Barbara froze. Was that…could it be…

Bingo?

“G-32, G-32.”

BINGO.

 

“Oh, there you two are!” Trixie exclaimed, breaking off her deep conversation over practical swimwear with Phyllis. Patsy and Delia smiled breathlessly, both their cheeks rosy red as they drew up to their coworkers.

“It looks like someone got lucky!” Phyllis said, gesturing towards Delia’s mammoth-sized prize bear. Patsy’s face went a darker shade of red while Delia beamed at Nurse Crane.

“The vendor tried to practically rob us in order to get it,” Delia retorted sourly before adding brightly, “but, Patsy knew how to work him over.”

“Well, it’s getting quite late,” Trixie said, glancing at her watch, “We should try and find Barbara.”

“Quite,” Patsy agreed.

The four began walking down the main street, eyes peeled for their coworker.

 

After fifteen minutes of unsuccessful searching, the quartet came to a large tent with a crowd playing bingo.

They found seats on the edge, near a vendor selling ale. Seating the teddy bear on its own chair, Delia stood up again and asked if anyone would like a glass. Patsy nodded and said “Please”, while lighting a cigarette, Trixie ignored the offer because it wasn’t directed at her, (mercifully), and Phyllis eagerly nodded, pulling out her purse.

“Here, lass, let me-” 

“No, Phyllis, it’s quite alright,” Delia said sharply, looking both offended and scandalized at the sight of the older nurse digging through her purse. The brunette trotted over to the vendor before Nurse Crane could insist on paying her. Phyllis looked questionably at Patsy.

“Just don’t try,” the ginger chortled darkly, “You’ll just make her mad.”

Patsy knew this from experience. 

The only thing that the pair actually knocked heads about was MONEY.

It all came to a head one night when Patsy and Delia went to a swanky restaurant and Delia left for the bathroom, in which Patsy paid the bill in full, including the tip.  
When Delia returned, she had in fact calculated the portion she would have to cover, but was beyond livid upon seeing Patsy covered the whole expense. What ensued was the strangest and most violent argument they have ever had.

On the walk home, the two were hissing at each other, trying to not be overheard as they heatedly argued on the streets, going past bewildered passersby’s.

Delia, who was normally very patient and considerate, had said some low things, such as:

“There is NOT a MAN in this relationship; YOU do NOT need to pay for EVERYTHING by yourself, I am PERFECTLY capable of covering for my OWN expenses!”

In which, Patsy angrily and very savagely pointed out that she had the funds to pay for it, unlike Delia, who lived paycheck to paycheck and off loans from her parents because of student debt.

…and then, naturally, it went downhill from there.

What was really bizarre was for the first time Delia was the one apologizing to Patsy two days later, when they both had cooled down a bit. The thing was that the Welshwoman was raised to only accept kindness that she could reciprocate, which Patsy grew to understand. She did not view Delia’s apology as an admittance of defeat; their arguments were not contests with a winner. In Patsy’s eyes, any argument between them was a cataclysmic event that had the potential to break them up. So the ginger was quick to apologize for her actions, and from then on they would always discuss who would pay for what.

So, if Delia wanted to buy everyone a beer, she sure as hell was going to buy everyone a beer.

Delia returned balancing three glasses of beer, as an announcer rattled off bingo numbers. Depositing them on the table, the women ignored several stares as they took deep draughts from their mugs. Trixie gazed around the tent and then froze.

“Uh…” the blonde woman stammered, “Hey…”

“What is it?” Patsy asked, frowning at Trixie’s expression.

“…I’ve just found Barbara.”

 

“Oh my…”

“Barbara?!” Trixie exclaimed, brushing past a bewildered Phyllis.

The woman in question sat in the middle of a table, a good twenty bingo cards spread out in front of her. It was both comical and sad, observing the young nurse with her arms spread wide, her eyes scanning the cards wildly as the numbers were called. 

“BINGO!” someone in the back called triumphantly. Barbara froze, her hands poised over the cards as she glared down the person who called it.

“It’s a good bingo! Clear your cards!” the announcer called.

“Damn!” Barbara groaned bitterly, underneath her breath. The other four bewildered women filed around the table and drew up chairs. 

“Barbara, what on earth are you doing?!” Trixie demanded shrilly, taking a seat next to the other.

“Oh, good, you’re here,” Barbara said absentmindedly, “Would you all like to take about four cards each? It’s getting very hard to catch up.”

“Barbara, why do you have so many?” Delia asked, balancing her teddy bear on her knee as she sat her beer down on the table. 

“I’ve won six times!”

The other four women shared a look before reaching towards the table to gather up their assigned cards.

 

Six glasses of ale and five successful shouts of ‘bingo!’ later, the group collectively decided it was time to go. Night had fallen, and a chill had descended on the festivities. Barbara scooped up the night’s winnings in a bag as the other four neatly stacked the cards in a pile. Taking their leave, Patsy tiredly drained the rest of her and Delia’s glass as Phyllis pushed in all the chairs. Delia bundled up her bear and Trixie gathered up the remaining purses so the brunette wouldn’t have to attempt to wrap it over her shoulder. The group walked down the street, towards the Nonnatus, talking amiably amongst each other. 

“I’ve always had a knack for bingo,” Barbara said, pride coloring her voice. 

“How on earth can one be good at bingo?! It’s based purely off of luck!” Trixie exclaimed, exasperated. Barbara shrugged, but seemed to maintain her belief in her ability.

“What are you going to do with the winnings?” Delia asked, her voice slightly muffled by the bear’s neck. 

“It seems only fair to split it between us,” Barbara said with a blush, “I would have never kept up with the announcer before you all came.”

“But, Barbara, you paid for all the cards!” Patsy exclaimed, mortified.

“…but still, it doesn’t feel right,” the other said, with a trace of finality.

“What about you, Nurse Busby…what will you do with that ridiculous stuffed animal?” Phyllis asked, wishing to change the subject as they turned on their street.

“Oh, I rather think it’s adorable,” Trixie piped in, before Patsy could utter a retort.

“I think I’ll keep it in my room,” Delia mumbled, her blush unseen in the dimness, “or maybe offer it to the antenatal clinic, for the children.”

“How very thoughtful,” Phyllis approved, “but if you wish to see its eyes attached for a little bit longer, I would keep it for a week or two before sacrificing it.”

 

When they finally got home, to collapse on their beds in exhaustion, it was eleven at night. Phyllis sat on her bed, smiling slightly to herself as Barbara dumped the winnings on her bed and began to sort through the money, dividing it into five piles. After a while, Trixie joined them, and the three discussed what they thought of the latest fashion trends.  
Previously, Trixie had been laying on her bed and smoking while Patsy changed for bed, when the blonde realized that she still had Delia’s purse. 

After telling Patsy idly, the ginger was quick to offer her assistance in returning it. Gathering the item up, she them quickly left, leaving Trixie in a cloud of cigarette smoke and silence. Trixie had kind of expected this, so after a few minutes of waiting, she wondered out loud why she even bothered waiting for the ginger to return in a timely fashion. So she opted to go and visit with Phyllis and Barbara, having long ago decided to not take offense to Patsy’s long absences.

Delia had placed the bear in the corner, on the floor by the bookshelf. She changed into her pajamas and had reached for her book when there was a gentle rap on her door. She called softly, and the door opened gently before Patsy slipped in, carrying her purse. 

“Oh, cariad,” Delia hummed as the taller woman placed the purse on the nightstand and then straddled the brunette beneath her.   
Patsy smiled before leaning in and kissing the shorter woman heatedly, her hands roaming underneath the bedsheets, in search of bare skin.


	5. In Sickness and in Health

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Patsy is sick.  
> Lots of pupcake fluff, the whole Nonnatus House comes together to make her feel better.
> 
> Please enjoy, and I love getting feedback!

Patsy was sick.

She knew it the instant she blearily cracked her eyes open, trying to read her clock as Trixie seemed to crash around the room. Exhaustion creeped into her bones, even though she had just slept for twelve hours straight, (much to Delia’s displeasure). Her head pounded and her stomach twisted uncomfortably as Patsy rolled into sitting position, fighting to open her eyes properly. She was cold, even though it was late summer, and her whole body trembled as if she was caught outside during a snowstorm. Trixie left the room, probably to use the restroom, and Patsy found herself collapsing back on her bed, face-down into the pillow with a groan. Before she knew it, Trixie seemed to have flicked the lights back off and she was left in merciful silence and darkness once more. The blonde woman did not say anything to Patsy, but just seemed to take her lack of movement as evidence enough of her sickness. 

As the ginger was left alone, she soon fall back into a feverish slumber as the Nonnatus House bustled around her. 

She was sick enough to not hear the door open and close at a little before nine that morning. She missed the dip in the mattress as weight was added to it, as well as the gentle and chaste kiss that met her feverish lips. She didn’t hear the chink of an ice-cold glass of water being placed on her nightstand shortly after, nor did she notice the rattle of a bottle of aspirin joining it. 

She missed the whispered, “I love you,” that tinkled her ear as warm breath disturbed her hair. 

After a stilled moment, the weight lifted, foot falls padded softly away, and Patsy was left once more in silence.

 

Patsy awoke at noon, feeling as if a double – decker bus had just decided to run her over several times. Even though she missed who placed the medicine on her bedside table, she was quick to put one and one together. She fearlessly took the bottle and dumped it into her hand before counting out four pills and plopping them in her mouth, desperate for relief. She then chugged the cold water, which soothed her dry throat and woke her up a little more.

The ginger then contemplated searching for food.

Had she been REALLY thinking, Patsy would have realized the whole of Nonnatus would have known of her illness, and that half of Poplar would notice her absence; meaning that Violet would have prepared her a lunch and that Mrs. B would have made her a cake by then. But, Patsy was not that vain was slightly too ill to think that all through, (one does lovingly refer back to when Patsy left the Nonnatus for a full day to go to the Center for Tropical Diseases without telling a soul. The Nonnatus House nearly imploded with worry).  
So the ginger feebly found her feet and staggered out of her room and down the stairs, still dressed in her pajamas. It didn’t quite make it to her goal however; reaching the parlor and collapsing on the couch, her limps feeling like jelly. She then promptly fell asleep.

Fred, who had been oiling bicycle gears, took a break for lunch, only to be cast out of his home by his wife who had shoved a packed lunch into his hands and urged him to deliver the hot meal to Nurse Mount. Fred, having learned of Patsy’s illness earlier that morning was only too eager to comply, finding Nurse Mount to be quite an efficient Scout’s leader. So he naturally hurried along across the street, the warmth of freshly baked sweet bread and a thermos of soup slightly scalding his hands.

When he reached the Nonnatus House, he traipsed through the door before placing the meal on the table and stomping into the parlor, preparing to mount the stairs. The older man froze at the sight of said nurse sprawled out on the couch, her usually pale cheeks dyed rosy and her normally meticulously-made hair in astray. Thinking the worst, Fred dashed to the phone and rang Dr. Turner.

Now, Dr. Turner had also heard of Patsy Mount’s supposed illness through the grapevine, (that being Trixie, Phyllis, and a rather worried Delia). He had planned on visiting the ginger after his rounds, because he, too, was worried. Throughout the short time they had known each other, Dr. Turner soon considered the nurse to be, well, his bro, (girl…bro…right? That’s a thing). They often conversed during cigarette breaks and Dr. Turner was delighted to find the ginger to be quite brilliant. So naturally, after speaking with a panicked Fred on the phone, Dr. Turner had grabbed his bag and dashed out the door of a patient’s home, wondering what on earth had befallen Nurse Mount.

When the doctor ran into the parlor, he stumbled across Fred sitting in an armchair looking sheepish as Nurse Mount made her way through Violet’s soup, still seated on the couch. 

“Ah, he said he rang you,” Patsy said hoarsely, her croak barely above a whisper. She gave a little, dry cough before placing the bowl of soup back on the coffee table and pushing it aside so Dr. Turner could sit his bag on it. 

“It sounds like he was in the right,” Dr. Turner said with raised eyebrows, “…though, I wouldn’t necessarily call this an ‘emergency’, Fred.” The other man shrugged in response.  
Dr. Turner took the ginger’s pulse, her temperature, and listened to her lung and heart functions. He then stood, clasping his bag up as he did so.

“How are you feeling?” he asked, a sad, apologetic smile dancing on his lips.

“Absolutely wretched,” Patsy responded promptly, swaying slightly as she vaguely regretted taking so much aspirin.

“It appears you have an actual case of the flu,” Dr. Turner said, referring to how some people would say they had the flu when in fact they just had a cold.

“You need rest, Nurse Mount, probably about four to five days of it,” he added sternly, “take in plenty of fluids, along with some aspirin every four hours.” 

“Of course,” Patsy said blearily, suppressing a yawn. 

“Call me if you begin to cough more than usual…I don’t want this to develop into a case of pneumonia,” he warned.

“Yes, Dr. Turner.”

“I’ll be back tomorrow to check on you,” the dark-haired man said, pausing at the door.

“Thank you,” Patsy said with a soft smile. When he left, Patsy returned to eating the soup, its warmth soothing the back of her throat and warming her body. She ate the bread as Fred make her a cup of tea, and the two sat in a peaceful silence as they sunk into their mugs. Feeling sated, Patsy carefully rose, exhaustion once again creeping into her bones. 

“Thank you, Fred, that was terribly kind of you and Violet,” Patsy said with a stretch. 

“It was no bother, Nurse Mount…now you get to bed,” Fred said mindfully. Patsy hobbled up the stairs, into her room, took two more aspirin and fell back asleep.

 

Two hours later, Patsy stirred slightly as the door opened and Delia slunk in. The brunette tip toed to the other side of Patsy’s bed and slipped underneath the covers, spooning Patsy.

“Deels…Trixie…what if…” Patsy mumbled worriedly.

“It’s okay, Pats, she had to call in an ambulance for an emergency C-section,” Delia murmured soothingly, fingers dancing across Patsy’s navel, “Poor Mrs. Rubien, the baby is just twisted in the completely wrong way. Trixie went to the hospital with her and is supposed to ring with any new information.”

Patsy, too tired to exhaust herself with worrying, fell into a peaceful silence, dancing on the cusp of consciousness as Delia began to rub her tummy.

“Delia,” Patsy slurred after a few minutes.

“Mm?” Delia hummed, her warmth seeping through Patsy’s pajamas and making her even drowsier.

“Have I ever told you I loved you?”

Chuckling, the Welshwoman murmured back, “Of course you have, cariad. And I love you too.”


	6. A Christmas to Remember

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Set to take place when half the staff are in Africa   
> Patsy and Delia go out on a strange call  
> Please, please, please comment, I would like to know if this is good or not!

The remaining inhabitants of Nonnatus house gathered around the table in a strange yet comfortable silence. Candles were lit and Sister’s Winifred, Mary Cynthia, and Monica Joan were preparing to enter the Christmas Compline after finishing up the dessert that Delia had graciously made last minute. Decorations adorned the staircase and hung from the ceiling beams, though the festive mood was quite muted due to the lack of people. Chummy had left earlier to celebrate Christmas with her new family, leaving the three Sisters facing an equally quiet Patsy and Delia. 

“So Nurse Busby is on first call,” Sister Mary Cynthia said to no one in particular, “and then Nurse Mount.”

“Unless there is some sort of emergency, in which I can be third on call,” Sister Winifred volunteered. For a moment there was only the scraping of forks on plates before the Sister’s stood and cleared the table, leaving Patsy and Delia to sit idly in the parlor, waiting for a call.

*****^*****

The hour hand ticked by slowly as Patsy and Delia bent over the table, Patsy shuffling a deck of cards. No one was really expected to go into labor for the next few weeks in fact, (what with all the pill and everything), but someone was always required to stay up for the phone. And with no patients in the Maternity Home for once, Patsy decided to stay up with her girlfriend to provide moral support and take the opportunity to spend time with her. While they couldn’t really get intimate, they enjoyed the shared moments.

“I can’t believe you don’t know how to play ‘Kings on the Corner’,” Patsy said disdainfully, shuffling the cards in a very sophisticated manner.

“I said I didn’t WANT to play ‘Kings on the Corner’,” Delia clarified with a sniff, “I know how to play it…it’s just so boring!”

“What, and ‘Go-Fish’ is not?” Patsy scoffed. 

“Well, normally no, but there are only two players, so yes, in this case it would be boring,” Delia conceded. 

Smirking slightly, Patsy dealt out the cards nevertheless before reaching over and taking a deep sip of her hot chocolate. Delia gathered up her cards and was about to say something when the phone began to ring.

The pair froze and stared at each other in surprise before Delia found her feet and made her way over to the telephone. 

“Nonnatus House, midwife speaking,” Delia recited casually.

The phone crackled as someone breathed heavily on the other end.

“Please help, I need help,” a woman said shakily in a pained voice, “It hurts so bloody bad.”

“I can help, but first can you tell me your name?” Delia prompted, glancing over the list for women due that month. 

“Marnie, Marnie Glassman,” the other woman rasped. Desperately, Delia ran down the list twice before realizing that no such name existed. Placing the phone on her breast so the woman wouldn’t hear her on the opposite line, Delia looked over at a curious Patsy.

“Marnie Glassman?” Delia whispered urgently.

“Marnie Glassman? …no, I don’t think I’ve ever heard of a ‘Marnie Glassman’,” Patsy said with a frown before standing up and walking over to Delia.

“I…uh…Marnie, I don’t seem to have any of your notes…” Delia said slowly, “Can you give me your address, or tell me where you are, at least?”

“654 East Berry Street,” Marnie panted, “I heard that you helped women in labor…from a friend…oh, God, please hurry!” Marnie broke off to gutturally moan, making Delia frantically search for a pen and a scratch piece of paper to write down the address.

“Okay, Marnie, I am on my way,” Delia said before hanging up with a furrowed brow.

“654 East Berry Street?” Patsy questioned dubiously, reading Delia’s handwriting from over her shoulder, “That’s near the docks.”

“Yes…” Delia said slowly, tugging her cape on over her mackintosh.

“I’m coming with you,” Patsy suddenly said decisively, pulling on her own overcoat, “Nothing good comes from around the docks.”

“While that’s very heroic,” Delia said with a smirk, “someone needs to man the phone.”

“I’ll get Sister Winifred to do it,” Patsy responded breezily. The pair gathered up their belongings before the ginger snuck into the chapel to fetch Sister Winifred. Within five minutes they had kicked off their bicycles into the ominous gloom of mid-winter London, snow crunching underneath their wheels.

*****^*****

“I…is this the place?” Delia asked, braking to a stop as her breath misted before her. 

“I don’t know, Deels, you are the on-call midwife,” Pasty said cheekily, drawing up beside her.

Delia looked as if she were about to retort when a hair-raising cry came from the nearly torn-down building before them. The couple gaped into its dark depths, too stunned to move.

“So…either that is a haunted house…” Patsy began slowly.

“Or a woman is in labor,” Delia finished, adding, “and in this case, I think it could go either way.”

After another stilled moment, the two dismounted and gathered their bags before braving the old rickety building.

*****^*****

“Hello?! Marnie Glassman?! Midwife!” Delia called, attempting to step over odd objects that littered the floor of the building. 

“I’m pretty sure this building was condemned two years ago,” Patsy whispered, holding Delia’s elbow to offer support over a box full of rusted car parts. 

“You say that NOW?” Delia hissed bitterly. She staggered and would’ve fallen had Patsy not tightened her hold and braced herself.

Sensing some rising tension due to the current situation, Patsy muttered, “Sorry”, before stepping over the box herself. Delia glanced back at her and smiled sadly, apologizing in her own way.

“Marnie?! Mrs. – er, Ms. Glassman?!” Delia announced. The two heard some shuffling, in which they paused to locate the source.

“Nurse?!” came a cry, “In the bedroom, behind the door!”

Following the voice, Patsy and Delia shared a look as they came across a door that looked older than Churchill himself.

As one, the pair approached the door cautiously, not sure what to expect on the other side.

*****^*****

Marnie Glassman was a skeleton.

As Patsy and Delia tore into the cramped bedroom and slammed the door shut, they came across a woman that should’ve been a corpse, had it not been for the way she writhed on the bed. In the dimness of a few emergency candles that were cemented on the nightstand, they saw her translucent skin stretch over her bone structure, and the shrunken, but still defiant bump between her hips. Delia immediately froze at the foot of the bed as Patsy threw her arm up to her nose as the stench of nameless bodily fluids attacked her senses. 

Marnie Glassman was in labor.

She grasped at the bedsheets beneath her and twisted them as she bit her tongue, trying to suppress her weakened moans. The room wasn’t nearly as cold as they thought it would be, but it hardly was as cozy as they would have preferred. Patsy, after a shocked pause, moved to the side of the bed.

“Marnie Glassman, I’m Nurse Mount and this is Nurse Busby,” she said in a quavering voice, “We are here to help you.”

Delia cautiously placed her bag on the bed before unclasping it and digging around in the darkness for a poniard horn.

“Oh, God, get it out, just get it out!” Marnie wept, clawing at her bedsheets as tears streaked down her cheeks. Patsy bit her lip and frowned slightly as Delia recovered her poniard horn and nudged Marnie Glassman’s nightie out of the way before placing it on her slightly bulging stomach.

“Uh, Pa – Nurse Mount,” Delia corrected, “this one’s coming fast.”

Nodding that she understood, the red head turned back to the distressed woman. 

“Ms. Glassman, you wouldn’t happen to remember if you’ve had a urine test since you became pregnant, would you?”

“I ain’t had no bloody tests done!” Marnie snarled, making Patsy take a calculative step back to reexamine the situation.

The truth was, Patsy didn’t feel comfortable. At all. She felt, if anything, in danger. What made it worse was that her natural instinct was to protect Delia, but they happened to both be in the current position, which was distressing. Marnie Glassman lived in a condemned building, looked like a talking cadaver, and was acting very aggressively to the people who were trying to help her.

All in all, it wasn’t shaping up very well.

Patsy motioned for Delia to check Marnie’s dilation before turning to properly inspect Marnie’s face. It was gaunt and pale, and the blonde woman was drenched with sweat and tears. Marnie’s eyes were glazed as her eyelids fluttered as another contraction passed, in which she brought her forearm to her mouth and bit down, hard.

And in the dimness of the candlelight, Patsy saw it.

Blood chilling rapidly, Patsy’s stomach dropped as she beheld arms that were covered in claw marks, several scratches bleeding and scabbed over, some even with pus coming out of them. 

“Miss Glassman,” Patsy whispered in a trembling voice, “please, may I see your arm?”

From the edge of her sight, the ginger saw Delia glance up at the unusual request.

“Why?” Marnie demanded sharply, pulling her arm across her body and away from Patsy.

“I need to take your pulse, Miss Glassman,” Patsy managed, licking her lips nervously.

Marnie glowered at her for a good while before surrendering the appendage over.

Taking it, Patsy pressed her index and middle finger over the underside of the wrist before risking a glance down for a closer look.

And there they were.

Multiple puncture holes, several fully or partially healed, on the inside of Marnie Glassman’s elbow.

*****^*****

Face blanching, Patsy turned towards Delia.

“Nurse Busby,” she said hoarsely, “Would you please ring for an ambulance?”

The moment the words were out of her mouth, Patsy felt a bony hand snap up and grasp her collar, pulling her down to where she was face-to-face with Marnie.

In the background, Patsy numbly registered Delia yelling something but all she could focus on were Marnie’s pale blue eyes.

“You ain’t callin’ no bloody coppers, an’ no damned ambulance!” Marnie snarled, spittle coming out of her mouth.

“Wouldn’t dream of it,” Patsy rasped automatically.

Suddenly the weight disappeared as Delia somehow managed to wedge Marnie’s claws off of her uniform and pull Patsy back protectively. Standing the red head up, Delia spared Marnie a withering look.

Marnie cringed and softly cried out in response, a contraction sweeping over her.

Delia took the moment to whisper hurriedly in Patsy’s hear.

“Pats, this baby is coming quickly,” she said, “and she is very weak right now.”

“I know, and on top of that I think she is going through with drawls,” Patsy responded, “We NEED to ring an ambulance sooner or later if either of them are going to survive.”

*****^*****

Ten minutes later, it became abundantly clear what Delia and Patsy needed to do.

Marnie Glassman was already crowning, though her eyes fluttered and her head lolled, on the brink of losing consciousness. Patsy was holding up her torso as she gave one final push and Delia told her to stop. 

The brunette’s face was unreadable as she bent down and began rigorously rubbing the babe, out of Patsy’s sight.

“C’mon, lad,” Delia muttered.

Patsy went to help her when a soft sigh escaped Marnie before her body began to twitch violently. With a soft cry, Delia scooped up the babe and pulled away as Patsy bent over the fitting mother. When the fitting subsided, Patsy turned to the brunette.

“Here, give me the baby, I’ll watch the both of them; go ring an ambulance.”

Without asking questions, Delia deposited the bundle into Patsy’s arms and dashed off.

“Oh, no,” Patsy breathed, beholding the baby for the first time, “What have you gotten yourself into, young man?”

The Glassman baby was the length of two hands and his cranium the size of a cricket ball. His face was puckered like most newborns, and he whimpered in Patsy’s arms as he struggled to breathe. Dipping him over so his head hung lower than his lungs, Patsy rubbed his back methodically. A short while later the baby gave a start, not really a cry, but more than likely his version of one.

With a clash, Delia staggered back into the room, panting heavily.

“Police and ambulance on their way.”

*****^*****

“Well, I’m sure they both would have died if you hadn’t been here,” Sergeant Noakes was saying as the ambulance doors were slammed shut. 

The trio were huddling together as a fierce wind blew through the streets and other police officers hobbled around them with torches, inspecting the building.

“What are the baby’s chances of living?” the police officer inquired after a pause.

“I really don’t know,” Patsy said through chattering teeth, “He just seemed small to me, but I’m sure there is internal damage, caused by whatever she was taking.”

“Oh…about that,” Sergeant Noakes said, face turning a delicate shade darker, “I’m afraid-”

“Hey, Sarge!” a bobby shouted, trotting up to the group, “We’ve found her stash!”

Coming closer, the young man handed his senior officer a paper bag, who unrolled it and raised his eyebrows.

“This needs to be tested in lab,” he said to the bobby, “but can you bring up Wilson, just to be sure?”

“Course, Sarge,” the other man said before turning around and shouting across the street, “HEY, WILSON! SARGE WANTS YOU!”

Patsy and Delia suppressed their giggles as Noakes sighed and said under his breath, exasperated, “That’s not what I meant…”

A tall, broad man marched up, with a mustache and carrying a torch. Wordlessly, Noakes held out the bag, in which Wilson dipped his pinkie inside before plopping it in his mouth, sucking experimentally.

“Yep, straight heroin from Amsterdam,” Wilson said with a nod.

“Hmph,” Noakes said, disgruntled, “Thank you, Wilson,”

“Well, we better be getting back,” Delia said, shuddering next to Patsy, “before we freeze to death.”

“I’m afraid I can’t let you do that,” Noakes said apologetically, “I have to insist that I take you to the police station.”

“Whatever for?!” Patsy demanded shrilly.

“The law requires that all NHS personnel be drug tested after being exposed to or being suspected of consuming illegal or controlled substances.”

“That…that’s ridiculous!” Delia sputtered, “Couldn’t we do this tomorrow?!”

“I’m sorry, but no,” the constable sighed, “if you refuse to come now, I can hold you in contempt or just have the test go in as a positive, which will go on your record.”

Patsy huffed irritably before saying sourly, “What about our bicycles?”

“I can have my officers take them back for you.”

*****^*****

Two hours later, Patsy and Delia emerged from the police station, feeling greatly harassed despite Sergeant Noakes’ attempts at making them as comfortable as possible. They had to go to a police station with an on-site drug lab, which happen to be clear across London. After drinking pints of water, they both finally managed it, (Patsy between a whole pack of cigarettes), and were placed in a waiting cell, (a cell! A motherfucking cell!), and had to ignore the attempts of freshly-arrested inmates from trying to pull them into a conversation. Ten minutes later, (and a broken finger on some nosy man’s part; not naming names, but SOMEONE shouldn’t try and stroke Delia Busby’s thigh when the heel of Patsy’s foot is right there), Noakes found them and yanked them out, all the while yelling at the on-duty guard about decency and security clearance.

Anyway, their tests came back an expected negative and they all but ran out the door after Noakes apologized profusely and shoved some bank notes in their hands for the bus ride back to Nonnatus.

The two boarded the bus and went towards the back, having the bus to themselves it seemed. Delia sat next to the window and gazed out of it while Patsy looked dutifully ahead, making sure the bus driver didn’t get lost. After a while, Patsy’s hand brushed against Delia’s and the brunette grasped it.

“That baby, Pats,” Delia whispered hoarsely.

“I know, Deels,” Patsy murmured, squeezing her hand. They stared around in silence for a good while before Patsy felt a weight on her shoulder. Looking down, she saw Delia had actually dozed off. Glancing around to make sure no one could see them, Patsy slunk lower into her seat to balance out their height differences, and allowing Delia to rest her head without getting a kink in her neck. They remained like that until the bus came to a stop in Poplar, and Patsy nudged Delia awake, so they could stagger into Patsy’s room and snuggle together.


	7. An Untouchable Patient

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Patsy gets mixed up in the wrong crowd

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I have absolutely no idea why I wrote this, please comment and tell me if you like it  
> This is absolutely not historically accurate at all

Clarisse Montag was not a normal patient.

Patsy wasn’t to know this at first, her file being nonchalantly thrown in her District Rounds pile one evening after a man from the American government had a late night conversation with Sister Julienne.

A conversation no one else was aware of, or would know about.

That morning, Patsy didn’t notice how Sister Julienne was pensively staring at her, nor did she pick up on the nun’s urgings to double check her files. She glanced at them.  
It wasn’t until she braked to a stop in front of a fancy flat, guarded by two military policemen; one from the British Army, and the other American.

Confused, Patsy had to clarify if she had the right place with the kind gentlemen.

They looked at each other before producing a worn out log book with tiny scribbles in it.

“Please sign in here, ma’am, and we’ll escort you in,” the American said. Patsy was fifty percent sure he was flirting with her, which made her inwardly chuckle.

Beyond confused, Patsy wrote in her name, title, and the time before they all marched up the steps and the British one knocked on the door, (at this point Patsy asked for their names; the British one was ‘Charles, miss’, and the American was, ‘Harvey, ma’am’). They waited a few seconds before Charles knocked again, calling, “Nurse to see you!”

“That’s thirty seconds,” Harvey said to the other before producing a key and unlocking the door. Patsy followed them numbly through a darkened house that was covered with dust. The guards seemed to know where they were going, for within record time they stood in the master bedroom, gazing at a half-naked woman staring glassy-eyed up at the ceiling fan as it spun around slowly. The stench of whiskey and bodily fluids attacked their senses, and for a moment Patsy was embarrassed for the woman.

“Agent Montag,” Harvey said neutrally, not perturbed by her nakedness. The woman didn’t seem to notice them as they gathered around her bed, Patsy still in shock.

“C’mon, Charlie, we’ve got a dead one,” Harvey sighed, stepping forward and slipping his arm underneath a shoulder. The other soldier stepped forward and did likewise.

“Nurse, can you turn on the cold water in the shower?” Harvey asked as the two men picked up Clarisse’s limp and petit body.

“I…yes,” Patsy stuttered, leaping forward, into the washroom. Bewildered that the apartment even had a shower apparatus, Patsy turned the knob and leapt back as the water shot out of the nozzle. Turning around, she watched as the two policemen carried her inside, Montag distantly moaning about “anarchy”.

And then they dunked her in the water.

“WHAT THE FUCK, YOU GODDAMN ASSHOLES!” Montag shrieked.

The woman leaped back and almost would have slipped if the two guardsmen hadn’t continued holding on to her.

“Agent Montag, you’ve broken house rules…again,” Harvey sighed, “You sighed a form about sobriety and NOT using illegal substances.”

“I’m sorry, someone left liquor in the cabinet,” Montag snapped back, shivering from her shower and tugging what little she had on closer around her form.

“I…well, the nurse is here to examine you,” he plowed on obviously as Montag noticed Patsy for the first time.

“Hmph,” Montag huffed.

*****^*****

Patsy sat placidly before her patient, who gazed off into the distance as Patsy took and recorded her vitals. After this was done, Patsy glanced at the file before discovering she had to check old wounds.

“You have a bullet in your shoulder?” Patsy read aloud in shock.

“Oh, yeah, here,” Montag said, snapping back to reality and rolling her shoulder up, “See? I still can’t roll it around completely, but I’m stretching it out every day.”

“I…um…your left knee?”

“Still hurts, no cartilage.” 

“And your amnesia?”

Montag suddenly stiffened.

“No,” she said softly, “I still don’t remember anything.”

Having not the slightest clue of what Miss Clarisse Montag was supposed to be remembering, Patsy moved on to testing her range of motion and recording places of specific pain. When she was helping Clarisse with her wrists, the American leaned forward.

“Hey, do you have any painkillers?” she whispered, low enough so Harvey in the corner couldn’t hear.

“Excuse me?!” Patsy hissed back, stunned, wishing she had heard her wrong.

“Nothing special, just like…I don’t know, morphine? Maybe even marijuana, if you’re into that?”

“I…absolutely not!” Patsy stammered.

The other woman leaned back and held up her hands dismissively.

“Alright, alright, sorry, I was just wondering!”

The rest of the examination was slightly strained.

When Patsy went to leave, Charles escorted her out the door.

“Oh, and Nurse?” he called as she floated down the stairs.

“Yes?”

“Just to clarify, this is all confidential.”

Patsy blinked.

“All patients are granted complete confidentiality,” she recited automatically.

“Yes, well, this is REALLY confidential.”

*****^*****

The next few days went something like that. Patsy would arrive, log in and examine her patient while the two guardsmen witnessed the transaction. Patsy learned quickly that Clarisse was quite the unhinged person; quick to shout or throw insults at anything or anyone she disagreed with, though Patsy thankfully did not fall under this category. She never talked about the patient with anyone, not even Delia. She didn’t know why, but something about the situation set her off.

*****^*****

Patsy woke to someone vigorously shaking her.

“Patsy,” Barbara hissed, trying not to wake up Trixie, “Patsy, a patient is on the line for you!”

Greatly confused and disgruntled, Patsy lurched up and staggered down the stairs before picking up the line.

“Hello?” she rasped with a yawn.

Someone on the other line was sobbing.

“N-Nurse Mount?” it asked softly.

“Yes, this is she,” Patsy said sharply, suddenly awake, “Who is this, are you alright?”

“I r-remember,” the person wept.

“What?”

“I remember,” they sobbed even harder. Then Patsy realized.

“Miss Montag, what is it that you remember?” Patsy asked in a calm tone while vigorously gesturing for Barbara to fetch her mackintosh and bag.

“Th-they caught me at the w-wall… I couldn’t get away, t-took me…to this place…”

“Yes? Who? Who took you?” Patsy soothed, struggling with her coat.

“The KGB.”

Patsy fumbled with her bag and dropped it.

This woman was surely insane.

“What?” Patsy stammered.

“They took me to Siberia,” Clarisse continued to sob, “And they were-”

The line went dead.

*****^*****

Patsy had never biked so hard, so fast in her life.

She thanked God that it was late enough at night that no one else was on the streets.

It took her fifteen minutes to get to Montag’s apartment, in which she ran up the stairs, waking up the guards who slumbered on the stoop. She had never met this pair, so she cut to the chase and said that Clarisse had called her claiming to suddenly remember something she had forgotten for the past six months.

The guards banged on the door, but on one answered. They then unlocked it and all three dashed inside.

They found Clarisse Montag curled up on the floor and sobbing, slamming her head on the hardwood hard enough that she bled profusely from her temple.

“You said that she called you?” one of the guards asked as Patsy struggled to bandage up Montag’s head wound, “And she was talking and the phone went dead?”

“Yes,” Patsy said, finishing it off and rising, “That’s why I was so worried.”

The two guards shared a look.

“Nurse Mount, may I speak with you in the parlor?” the taller one said, gesturing towards the room. Patsy’s heart beat faster; she did not miss the unsaid communication between them. But duty drove her forward.

“Of course,” she said slowly, stepping into the room, the guard close behind.

And all Patsy knew was an overpowering chemical smell and darkness.

*****^*****

Patsy woke blearily, her head pounding and nose burning from the chloroform the guard had used on her. Sunlight streamed through the windows, so she must have been unconscious for a good few hours. For a moment she just lay there, silently observing dust motes dancing just above the rug she fell on. Several questions burned in her mind, but at present thinking hurt, quite a lot.

After the moment was over, she gingerly rolled up, checking her limbs for further injury along the way. She then pulled herself on her feet using the fireplace mantle. The ginger then began to stagger towards the door. The house was otherwise devoid of life.

Did she go to the police? Did she need to go to the hospital? Was this even worth reporting?

Blocking the rude sunlight with her hand, Patsy opened the door, but then froze.

London was busy as usual, but parked right in front of the apartment, in place of her bicycle, was a brand new, jet black Jaguar. Patsy looked around wildly. Her bicycle was in fact nowhere to be seen.

The ginger watched, stunned, as the backseat door opened and a hulking man in a black suit and sunglasses stepped out and stood at the foot of the stoop, gazing expectantly up at her.

“What?” she blurted.

“Please,” he said, stepping back and gesturing towards the car interior, “please.”

For a wild moment, Patsy wondered how far she could get if she made a run for it. Probably not that far, given her current physical state. She knew not to ever get into a car with strangers.

Wordlessly, the man reached into his pocket and held out a small, shiny object. Cautiously, Patsy stepped down a few steps to examine it. It was a C.I.A. badge.

“Please,” he repeated.

Feeling trapped, Patsy took one look back at freedom before slinking into the car’s dark interior.

*****^*****

The man joined her and right as the door shut, the car stealthily joined the rest of traffic. The backseat was roomy and there was a divider between the passengers and driver. Patsy gazed straight ahead, her heart pounding at the speed of light.

The man opened up a small compartment and poured Patsy a glass of water into a whiskey tumbler. She did not take it, but rather stared, unsure of herself. In response, the man took a sip of it as if to prove it was not poisoned before pressing it into Patsy’s hands. Now grateful, the ginger chugged the water down eagerly.

She didn’t know where they were going, but the next twenty minutes went by in a blur. They pulled up to a fancy building and she was guided into it as the hulking man stood unbearably close to her. They went into an elevator and went to the sixth floor before going to a door at the far end of the corridor. The man opened the door and ushered it in before shutting it with a click.

She was in an office.

It was dim and slightly foreboding, with mahogany wood furnishings, a thick rug and an unlit fireplace in the corner. A white-haired man stood facing away from her, gazing serene out the large window behind his desk.

“Ah, Patience Mount, please have a seat,” he said pleasantly without turning around. Trembling violently, Patsy seated herself in the one visitor chair, only to spot some large developed pictures on the desk, conveniently placed in full view of her. Craning slightly, she leaned forward, only to freeze and have her heart jump into her throat.

It was a picture of her…

…with Delia.

It would have been innocent, had it not been for Patsy’s rather flirtatious hand placement on the brunette’s hips and the romantic gleam in Delia’s eyes. The ginger balked, her face paling as the urge to vomit gripped her stomach. The man casually turned and noticed her expression before placidly sitting down, a pleasant smile on his face. 

“Ah, I see you recognize the photo,” he continued, as if discussing the weather. He opened a folder on his desk and began to place more pictures on the desk, much to Patsy’s horror.

Patsy and Delia holding hands in a darkened street.

Patsy and Delia pressed up against an alley wall.

Patsy and Delia kissing.

Just Delia, grinning at something beyond the camera gleefully.

The last photo was the final nail in the coffin.

She began to tremble violently, her whole mind blanking as she stared at Delia, her beautiful Delia grinning merrily back, her dimples creasing her cheeks.

What had they done?!

“Now, Nurse Mount,” he said abruptly, “I would like to start off by reminding you that we are the United States government.”

Patsy shot him a pointed look.

“…and I also don’t give a damn about your sexuality or who your girlfriend is,” he finished, scooping up the pictures and hiding them from sight, “what I do give a damn about is international security.

“With that in mind, I would like you to repeat to me what Agent Montag told you over the phone,” he continued.

Patsy froze as something clicked in her head.

“You already know…” she rasped, “You…you somehow stopped the call.”

The man smiled, not unkindly.

“We have the apartment’s phones tapped.”

“Then you already know what she said,” Patsy breathed.

The man’s smiled widened even more.

“Ah, yes, Nurse Mount, but I want to hear it from your mouth.” 

Patsy took a deep breath before saying, “She said she remembered-”

“Nurse Mount,” the man interrupted idly, “I want to know what you HEARD from Agent Montag last night.”

Patsy mulled this over for a good moment.

“She called saying she was sick,” Patsy whispered hoarsely.

The man soon resembled the Cheshire Cat.

“And what happened when you arrived at her flat?”

“I saw that she had fallen, so I bandaged a head wound and stayed the rest of the night, making sure she wouldn’t lose consciousness.”

“Very good, Nurse Mount,” he practically purred, “and that is what will go down on Agent Montag’s record, and it better be the only thing you say about last night, even to Delia Busby.”

Patsy didn’t respond, but just numbly stared back at him.

“Now, you are a great nurse, Ms. Mount,” he continued in a softer tone, “It’s one of the reasons why I chose you to be her care provider…and I would like to say that I have taken your best interests to heart; bearing in mind that this extremely confidential information doesn’t see the light of day.” 

He then partially held up the damning folder, smiling grimly.

“As much as I hate to say this is a threat, it very well is. And I can assure you this will get leaked to the right people, should we even suspect that you have said anything.”

Patsy swallowed.

“With that in mind, I also don’t want my blackmailing piece deemed void, should someone discover your relationship with Ms. Busby. It would be wrong to you, seems how you would be punished for no reason. God forbid, something like that happens, I can make it all disappear. Consider it both a negative and positive reward; you keep a secret, we help keep yours…but if you tell a secret, we tell yours. Understand?”

Patsy numbly nodded, suddenly wishing she had never set foot in that damned flat.

The man stood, extending a hand.

“It was a pleasure meeting you. Have a nice rest of your day.”

*****^*****

Patsy entered the Nonnatus House with a huff before marching into the parlor and catching sight of Delia. Of course, everyone was there as well, jumping up and exclaiming about her absence, but Patsy only noticed the brunette who gazed steadily back at her. 

Patsy vaguely recalled making some excuse before staggering up the stairs and slipping into Delia’s bedroom.

*****^*****

Delia knew something was wrong, and that Patsy couldn’t talk about it…at least, not in front of the others. After Patsy disappeared upstairs, Delia waited a moment before saying she was going to read her book.

When she opened her door, she wasn’t the least surprised to find Patsy sitting rigidly on her bed.

“Patsy, what on earth, are you-”

Delia broke off as Patsy’s lips crashed onto hers, the ginger shoving Delia against the door and twisting the lock in place. Delia tried desperately to mute her moans, or at least to persuade Patsy to relocate on the bed as the red head made heated and almost violent love to her against the door. The brunette knew they were making a terrible racket, so she finally managed to grasp Patsy’s hands which were pressing urgently against her pleasure.

“Pats,” she panted, through swollen lips, “what has gotten into you?!”

The ginger returned a deadened stare that was full of a fire Delia did not recognize.

“I need you,” Patsy whispered hoarsely.

“I’m here, cariad,” Delia murmured back, taking the pause in movement to tug her girlfriend towards the more inviting bed. Delia sat down on it and before long Patsy had pounced on her, forcing her down and below the ginger. Patsy grasped Delia’s wandering hands by her wrists and pinned them above the brunette’s head as her tongue wandered across her chest. Impressing Delia to not touch her, Patsy moved down and was swift to relieve the brunette of her knickers before diving underneath the folds of her skirts and making Delia dissolve into a fit of needy moans and shocked gasps.

*****^*****

“Patsy,” Delia whispered, still trembling from the aftershocks, “are you alright?”

The ginger, who was kissing fervently along Delia’s navel, paused in her ministrations. She had spent the last half an hour passionately bringing pleasure to only Delia, not allowing the brunette to reciprocate, like she was dying to do.

“I’m fine,” Patsy lied easily.

“What happened last night?” Delia queried, looking like she didn’t believe her.

Patsy took a deep breath before slinking up to gaze intently into Delia’s eyes.

“Delia, do you trust me?” she whispered, twirling an escaped lock of brunette hair around her finger.

“Of course I do,” Delia murmured back with a blink.

“Then know I can’t tell you what happened…in fact, I can’t tell anyone,” Patsy said.

Delia looked as if she were about to scoff, but then thought against it.

“Okay,” she breathed, acceptance in her gaze.

Patsy smiled forlornly before gently brushing her lips on Delia’s left dimple.

Clarisse Montag was definitely not a normal patient.


	8. A Scandalous Prescription

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Trixie has a curious time with one of her patients
> 
> Because this NEEDS to be discussed on CTM
> 
> Also; Delia must never go without her nails painted

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Please comment and let me know what you think!

Trixie Franklin wasn’t political.

She also didn’t consider herself terribly religious either.

In her mind, it was live and let live; people should be able to do as they wish as long as they didn’t harm anyone else. Things that would bother some people terribly didn’t make her blink or think twice about it.

With this in mind, Trixie Franklin paused as a mother from the landing above her poked her head out the door.

“Hey, Nurse?” the mother called softly. It was Brenda Birdman, a stout, 43 year old woman with five children ranging from the ages 22 to 9.

“Yes, Mrs. Birdman?” the pixie haired woman asked, pausing at the door. She had just dropped off a maternity package to another mother, and was looking forward to tea waiting for her at Nonnatus.

“You wouldn’t happen to have any aspirin, or muscle relaxer? My Jeanine’s havin’ her monthlies and ain’t doin’ too well.”

“Oh dear,” Trixie said, automatically feeling sympathy, “Of course I do; is it her first day?” They spoke openly because no one was around, and Trixie swiftly turned around and walked up the stairs, still talking with Brenda.

“Oh, no, I think she said it was her third,” Brenda said casually, “I would’ve gone out and gotten some medicine me’self, but she’s been getting’ sick and wouldn’t have kept it down.”

Trixie paused.

“She’s been getting sick?”

Brenda nodded vigorously. Trixie opened her mouth but then shut it again. She decided to not tell Brenda that vomiting for days during one’s period was not normal at all.

“May I see Jeanine, Mrs. Birdman? Maybe I can slip her something a little stronger than aspirin,” Trixie suggested instead. The mother gave her a slight frown but nodded before turning and leading her into her flat.

The flat was dim and the slightly messy, but Trixie had seen it all and thought nothing of it. Brenda gestured to a room at the end.

“She’s in, through there, nurse,” Brenda said before turning back to the dishes. Ducking underneath articles of clothing hanging on a clothesline, Trixie went into the bedroom.

Jeanine lay curled on her parents’ marriage mattress, curled up in fetal position and holding a hot water bottle to her stomach. The young woman had a slight sheen of sweat and looked exceedingly pale in the face as she cracked an eyelid and looked at Trixie.

“Hello, Jeanine,” Trixie said politely, sitting down her bag on the bed, “I hear you’re having a rough time with your monthlies. I have some muscle relaxer I can give you.”

“Muscle relaxer don’ do much,” Jeanine grumbled, “Makes me loopy but don’ help the pain.”

“I see. Have you been feeling well at all since your period started?”

“No, I bloody haven’t,” Jeanine groaned, burying her head underneath a pillow. Trixie mulled this over for a moment, before sweeping from the room and re-entering the kitchen.

“I’m going to ring Dr. Turner,” Trixie said to Mrs. Birdman.

“What?! Whatever for; it’s just her monthlies!” Brenda exclaimed in shock.

“And she is in a great amount of pain,” Trixie rebutted, heading towards the door.

*****^*****

Dr. Turner gazed thoughtfully at his patient, who had just vomited up the medicine that he had just administered to her. Trixie stood at the doorway, awaiting his verdict while Jeanine’s mother floated behind her.

“I think I’m going to prescribe a course of contraception,” Dr. Turner began slowly, “It is a relatively new avenue for menstrual relief, but it appears to do wonders.”

Brenda Birdman was beside herself.

“Ain’t no my Jeanine is goin’ on the Pill!” she shouted hotly, “She ain’t runnin’ around the wrong crowd! She’s a good girl!”

“Mrs. Birdman, I’m not saying her daughter is having such bad menstrual pain because she is having sex; contraception will relieve her pain because it will lower the effect of her hormones,” Dr. Turner placated.

“But it ain’t right! It’s just her monthlies!” Brenda continued, over the sound of her daughter distantly moaning.

“Ma, just let me take ‘em! I can’t keep anything down!” Jeanine groaned into the pillow.

“No,” Brenda said angrily, “The bible says it ain’t right, an’ you ain’t getting’ them pills!”

*****^*****

“I couldn’t believe my ears,” Trixie was saying, puffing on a cigarette, “Dr. Turner prescribed a perfectly good course of pain relief and the mother refuses it on the grounds of religion!”

She spoke to Patsy and Delia, the only others in the room. Delia laid on Patsy’s bed, glancing through Trixie’s copy of Vogue while her bare feet were extended at Patsy; the redhead bent over them as she applied nail lacquer to her toenails.

“How bad was Jeanine?” Delia asked, looking up from the magazine.

“She was absolutely wretched! She couldn’t even hold down the muscle relaxer we gave her!” Trixie said, tapping some ash over the ashtray.

“Poor thing,” Patsy said sympathetically, pausing as she scrutinized her handiwork.

“I was like that in my teens,” Delia sighed forlornly, adding, “My mother was absolutely terrified that it was morning sickness and I was pregnant.”

Patsy glanced up from Delia’s toes and spared her a smirk, which did not go unnoticed by Trixie.

“What are you talking about, you are still like that,” Patsy chided, dipping the wand back in the vial for more lacquer. Delia raised her eyebrows.

“I only get sick on my first day now,” the brunette sniffed, “and I am most definitely NOT pregnant.”

“Maybe you need to go on the Pill too,” Patsy joked, delicately applying the brush on Delia’s big toe.

“Oh, but you’d be such a great mother, Delia!” Trixie chirped nonchalantly, feeling left out of their conversations as she normally did.

Delia blinked, surprised by the compliment. Trixie observed Patsy glance up and watch Delia intently as a sad look came over the brunette.

“Oh, I don’t know, I’d turn out too much like my mam,” Delia murmured, clearly touched but trying to brush it off. The blonde midwife glanced at Patsy and saw the tall woman’s face fall before she tried to disguise it by concentrating on Delia’s toes. Trixie expected Patsy to say something, but the redhead seemed unusually subdued.

“Well, it’s not like people can tell Jeanine would be on the pill by looking at her,” Trixie rushed on, trying to redirect the conversation.

“Of course! It’s very discreet,” Delia said brightly.

“I don’t believe the mother will allow it,” Patsy said darkly, “She’ll think it will allow her daughter to ‘go out’ with men.”

“Which is no one else’s business,” Trixie sniffed, “In the end, this is her health problem, and this is the most reasonable treatment for it. She literally can’t function when she’s on her period; no one should have to deal with that! It’s the twentieth century!”

“I know,” Patsy sighed, straightening up.

“Hopefully her mother will realize that too,” Delia added, glancing down at her painted nails and wriggling them experimentally.

“What on earth is that color? It looks marvelous,” Trixie said, leaning over and squinting.

“I haven’t the slightest clue, Patsy bought it in Paris,” Delia said, referring to the ginger who was tightening the cap on.

Patsy said something in French, making Trixie raise her eyebrows.

“Sounds expensive!”

Patsy appeared to try and not burst out laughing.

“It means ‘Ocean Blue’,” Patsy chortled, raising up and placing it on the nightstand.

“Well ‘Ocean Blue’ goes spectacularly with your hair,” Trixie said, “But I think it would clash terribly with yours, Patsy.”

*****^*****

A few days later, Trixie was nabbed by Jeanine in the streets.

“Oh, dear, how are you feeling?” Trixie asked as paused, her hand on her bike.

“I’m better now,” Jeanine said briskly, glancing around, “I was wondering…could I still get them pills…without my ma knowin? I’m nearly eighteen, an’ I can pay for them if I need to.” Trixie gave a start, shocked. Of all things, taking contraception secretly was not what she was expecting to talk about with the young woman.

“That’s something you are going to have to ask Dr. Turner, Jeanine,” Trixie said slowly, “And if you do manage to get them, you realize you have to take a pill every day?”

“‘Course I do. I just can’t go on like this no more,” Jeanine said brusquely.

“Okay,” Trixie said, “I’ll see what I can do.”

As it turns out, Jeanine was able to get the treatment she needed to lead a normal life. She no longer dreaded her periods, and she no longer could be found moaning and groaning on her bed for a week on end. She was able to enjoy life fully, and not have to push through the excruciating pain every month.


	9. Some Sad News

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Patsy receives some sad news and Delia struggles to understand
> 
> Please Enjoy!

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Please leave a review!

Before long, summer was drawing to an end and Poplar was submerged in a chilly climate. The midwives would return to a birth pink-faced and wind burnt, only to try and seek warmth in a cup of tea. 

One especially blustery day, a knock echoed in the cavernous building.

Delia, who was enjoying a day off and playing a crooked game of cards with Sister Monica Joan, looked up from her hand in mild bewilderment.

“Who on earth could that be?” she said to herself, though the nun amiably replied.

“The crow does caw to express his remorse,” she said somberly, placing down a queen of hearts, “as his black plumage signifies the death that surrounds him.”

Sparing the much older woman an exasperated look, Delia placed her hand face-down and went to the door, (in which Sister Monica Joan eagerly picked it up to glance at her cards).

With a slight tug, the door opened and Delia observed two older men stand before her on the stoop, which were not common visitors to the nunnery. Despite this, Delia remained steadfast to her upbringing and smiled pleasantly at them.

“Hello, how may I help you?” she inquired.

The paler man, with small circular spectacles, stepped forward as he swept off his hat.

“Yes, may we speak to Miss Patience Mount?” he asked politely in a rather soft, misplaced voice.

For a moment Delia was caught off guard as alarm took over her features. She instinctively felt protective and wondered why on earth these men wanted to speak with the red-head.

But of course, she could not express this.

“Yes, of course, please come in,” Delia said in a strained voice, opening the door more. The two men stomped in and Delia shut the door a little more forcefully than normal.  
“Just let me go fetch her,” Delia called over her shoulder, making for the back. The brunette had heard Patsy come in earlier with Trixie, and they were more than likely sanitizing their tools in the autoclave. She soon spotted the two of them, conversing lightly about the birth they had just attended. At her presence though, Patsy fell silent and smiled warmly at her girlfriend.

“Hello, Deels,” Patsy practically purred, “enjoying your day off?”

“Pats,” Delia said softly, ignoring her question, “There are men here asking to see you.”

The ginger stopped, her face becoming expressionless. From behind her, Trixie popped her head to the side and gawked at the brunette.

“There are MEN here to see Patsy?! Oh, do tell!” Trixie exclaimed scandalously.

Delia went to politely explain to Trixie that no, the men she was thinking about were not the same, when Patsy spoke first.

“Not now, Trixie,” Patsy said in a low, almost angered tone.

Patsy brushed past Delia and went towards the parlor, leaving Trixie and Delia to stare after her in bewilderment.

“Was it something I said?!” Trixie inquired bitterly to the brunette.

*****^*****

“Mr. Wainwright,” Patsy said upon entering the foyer, Delia and Trixie having caught up. The paler gentleman, the one who spoke at the door, extended his hand and Patsy shook it firmly.

“Miss Mount,” he said courteously. His eyes wandered over Trixie and Delia, standing a few feet behind Patsy and watching them intently.

“Uh…may we speak a little more privately?” Mr. Wainwright asked politely. Patsy paused before glancing back at Delia, her expression unreadable.

Turning back to the gentlemen, she forced a smile on her face and said in a suddenly hoarse voice, “Yes, of course…please, follow me.”

*****^*****

“What on earth are they possibly talking about?!” Trixie exclaimed as they crowded over Delia’s window, the only one with a view of the garden. Delia squinted and hurriedly wiped away the condensation gathering on the glass from her hasty breath. 

“I don’t know,” the brunette said softly.

Patsy stood outside with the two men in the chilly weather in only her cardigan, hugging herself and stomping her feet as the two men spoke to her. She appeared calm, though the men appeared remorseful and apologetic about something. The ginger nodded and shook her head a lot, before the trio shook hands and began to make their way to the building.

“Oh, jeez, go, go, go!” Trixie said, giving Delia a slight shove towards the door. The two trotted downstairs as quietly as possible, still managing to barrel into Barbara on the stairs.

“What are you two-”

“Shh, c’mon!” Trixie hissed, spinning Barbara around and shoving her forward. By the time they reached the parlor, Patsy was coming back from seeing the men to the door. Her cheeks were pink from the chill and she seemed lost in her thoughts as the three skidding to a stop and attempted to look casual.

The ginger then began to walk towards Sister Julienne’s office without acknowledging the three.

“Pats-” Delia choked.

Patsy paused, before looking around and giving Delia a soft, sad, and strained smile. She then turned back and entered the office.

*****^*****

“I am…Oh, Nurse Mount, I am terribly sorry!” Sister Julienne was saying, a sorrowful expression taking over her features.

“Yes…well,” Patsy said morosely, her eyes fixed on her hands, “Kind of knew it was coming.”

“Yes,” Sister Julienne said sympathetically, her observant eyes sweeping over Patsy’s rigid features, “I expect you would like some time off?”

“If that wouldn’t be too hard to arrange, Sister,” Patsy murmured, “I need to go see what’s left of his flat.”

“Of course,” the older woman replied, “I can give you a week, possibly even two if you find that you need it.”

Patsy looked up at the nun curiously.

“That is very generous,” she stated evenly, looking slightly bewildered, “I don’t expect to need that much time though.”

“Oh? Why it that, Nurse Mount?” Sister Julienne prompted softly.

“We weren’t really close,” Patsy replied, “I would just like to take care of this and get back to work.”

“I see,” Sister Julienne responded pensively, “But consider it a request more than an offer, Nurse Mount. You have served Nonnatus House with excellence and dedication; I would like you to return to work when you feel absolutely comfortable doing so.”

Patsy looked as if she were about to disagree, but she gave the nun a gentle smile.

“How terribly kind of you, thank you.”

“What day do you expect to visit your father’s flat, may I ask?” Sister Julienne asked.

“Saturday, if that is agreeable,” Patsy responded dubiously.

“It is…I was actually wanting to send some of the others with you,” the nun explained, “We could perhaps spare Nurse Busby and Nurse Franklin that day, to help you clear up there.”

“That…I don’t believe that will be necessary,” Patsy stammered.

“I insist,” Sister Julienne stated evenly, “It will make the job go faster.” Patsy frowned slightly, not wanting her friends privy to gleam examples of her previous life, but she saw the nun was not going to except ‘no’ for an answer.

“Very well,” Patsy surrendered.

“Good. Please know that our chapel is open and you are welcome to join us for compline if you so wish,” Sister Julienne said, smiling pleasantly.

“Thank you, Sister,” Patsy said, rising from her chair.

*****^*****

“Dear Lord!” Trixie exclaimed, “What about his will?”

“He didn’t leave one,” Patsy said neutrally, lighting a cigarette. She sat cross-legged on her bed in her pajamas, while Delia sat at the foot of her bed, dressed in her uniform, technically second on-call.

The brunette gazed intently at the ginger, though Patsy stared determinedly down at her covers. 

“I’m sorry,” Delia murmured softly, though she did not move forward like she so wanted to; she could not wrap her love in a hug, nor could she kiss away all her worries. Patsy glanced up and spared her a weak smile.

“That’s terrible news,” Trixie continued, acting as if she couldn’t hear Delia’s loving tone, though she very well could, “Are you sure you are okay?”

“I’m quite fine,” Patsy said sharply, puffing on her cigarette, “We weren’t close at all.”

Trixie fell silent and continued to look over her magazine, though she quickly shot the ginger a concerned side-glance. Delia was still gazing worriedly at Patsy, but the red-head seemed determined to not meet either of their gazes. 

*****^*****

Two days later, the trio boarded the bus as the first of the sun’s rays graced the chilly November sky. Delia had not been able to procure a spare moment to share with Patsy, the ginger seeming to avoid her attempts at drawing her into a deep, well-meaning conversation about how she felt.

The bus ride was around an hour long, in which Trixie and Delia watched the landscape grow more and more sophisticated as Patsy stared resolutely ahead. The bus finally stopped, and the ginger abruptly stood, making the others scramble up to follow. They paid their fare and found themselves on a very clean and tidy street corner, without a single person in sight.

Walking as if she were alone, Patsy marched up to a black-marbled stoop that looked stunningly like some sort of law-office entrance. The ginger paused at the alabaster door before looking down and trying the door handle.

Locked.

“Carla,” Patsy muttered irritably before stooping down and uncovering an innocent-looking rock and revealing a slightly rusted key. Trixie and Delia watched as Patsy shoved it into the lock and twisted, snapping it back with a ‘click’. The ginger then shoved the door open and they trailed after her wake.

*****^*****

Delia and Trixie’s eyes widened and their jaws dropped as they gazed around a foyer with vaulted ceilings and marble flooring, right before a sweeping staircase positioned underneath an impressive glass chandelier. The lights were on, yet dim, and the marble shown as if freshly shined. The air smelled of incense and faintly of bleach.

They were so in awe that it took a moment for them to realize Patsy had already started walking down the hall, past the staircase. Snapping themselves out of shock, they hurriedly trotted after the tall red-head as she entered what appeared to be a dining room. A large mahogany table took over the room, though it looked strangely muted and unadorned.

Trixie was so fixated with the room that she didn’t realize Patsy had stopped suddenly, and walked right into her. Curious, Delia and Trixie peered around the ginger to see what had held her up.

An older woman, probably in her later fifties, stood behind a box set of silver cutlery. At first it appeared that the heavily tanned woman was polishing it, for it looked like the most sensible thing for her to be doing, but as they watched closer, the woman was stealing the culinary utensils into a shoebox in a hurried fashion. Her eyes were cast down, and she more than likely couldn’t hear the trio’s entrance over the pinging sound of silver falling into the shoebox. Patsy drew herself upright.

“Carla,” Patsy said evenly.

The older woman froze before slowly looking up, a frightened look on her face. At the sight of Patsy, the Carla’s expression morphed into that of pure hatred.

“Li Diable-nen! Vostè ve aquí només després que el seu pare és mort i a la tomba! Vostè gossa ingrat, vostè maleïda dimoni!”

“-Carla-” Patsy sighed idly.

“Criatura brut, com s'atreveixen veniu aquí! El seu pare va exclamar-se per dormir pensant en vostè! Però veniu a collir el que ell ha deixat!”

“-Carla-”

“Després de tot, que ha fet per a vostè! Ni una paraula! Ah, si fos la meva filla em mataria!”

Patsy went to step forward, but Delia instinctively grabbed her arm as Carla paused in her rant to gasp for breath. Delia glanced worriedly at the ginger, but at the movement the Catalan woman’s face went red with some sort of emotion and she sputtered, waggling a finger between the two.

“Què has fet tu, dimoni?! Vostè ha pres una altra donzella en vostres serveis! Amenaçar robar la seva ànima així?!”

“Carla!” Patsy shouted sharply, unnerved by how the superstitious Catalan was pointing at her and Delia. Brushing off Delia’s hold, Patsy marched forward and stopped just before the silver set, glowering at the much older woman.

“Take the damn silver, Carla, and get out!” Patsy snarled, slamming the elegant briefcase shut and locking the gold clasps before shoving it into Carla’s arms. The older woman stared suspiciously at Patsy for a moment before licking her lips and readjusting the case in her arms.

Addressing the whole room in a low voice, she said, “Prego a Déu que la seva ànima és salvat de la condemnació, dimoni!”

She then marched out of the room, and then out of the house, silver in tow.

“Patsy…” Trixie whispered in the silence that followed, “That’s…that was GOOD silver!”

“I know. Why, did you want it?” Patsy asked in a defeated tone, staring at where Carla once stood.

“…No…” Trixie muttered, still in shock.

*****^*****

“Who was she?” Trixie finally managed to ask as they trailed after Patsy around the flat. The ginger was pointing to rooms and muttering under her breath, trying to recall the layout of her father’s house.

“My father’s housekeeper,” Patsy said before whispering, “Bathroom…bedroom…”

“What was she saying?” Delia asked softly, eyeing a large aquarium that had something in it that looked suspiciously like an eel.

“I haven’t the slightest clue,” Patsy responded truthfully before coming to the last door.

“Office,” the ginger murmured under her breath, before shoving it open.

The three peered inside and all groaned.

*****^*****

Five hours later…

“I can’t believe he had all of this stuff lying out!” Trixie exclaimed in a high-pitched voice, holding up an expired check worth a sizable sum of money.

“No one was allowed in here, not even Carla,” Patsy sighed, sifting through a separate stack of papers. The group sat cross-legged on the floor of a large office with Victorian furnishings and covered with papers. They sorted the papers into three large boxes they dug up; trash, important documents for storage, and papers that Patsy would have to revisit.

“Ooh, what about this?” Trixie asked, holding up a book of shipping orders.

Patsy took it from the blonde and squinted at it, trying to make out the words.

“This should be sent to the company,” Patsy said with a frown, “I don’t know why he had it here.” She set the binder off to the side.

Delia glanced up before returning to her stack, which was composed of seemingly random documents from the right side of the desk. The brunette stopped as she came to a promising manila folder that was thick and crinkled. Without opening it, she handed it off to Patsy.

The ginger glanced at her girlfriend’s wary expression before accepting the package and opening it.

“That…bloody man,” Patsy huffed, removing a stack of neatly arranged correspondence, tied together with red ribbon. The ginger held it limply, staring at the yellowed pages as the other two gazed at her warily. After a moment of stillness, Patsy tossed it back into the folder almost in disgust before pushing it away from her.

“What…” Trixie began.

“My parents’ letters from before they were married,” Patsy said curtly, “My mother left them here with my grandmother before she moved to Singapore…he must have tracked them down after the war.”

The trio fell once more into silence, Trixie and Delia glancing worriedly at Patsy every once and a while. They ended up getting most of the office cleared away from the floor before Patsy stood, brushing off her slacks two hours later.

Moving around the desk, she began rummaging through the drawers, huffing every once and a while in disgust or mild surprise.

Suddenly Patsy tugged at a drawer to find that it was locked. 

“What the…” the ginger muttered. Patsy moved around and began sifting around the debris on the desk, looking for a key. 

“What is it?” Delia inquired gently from the floor.

“This drawer is locked,” Patsy explained, reopening other drawers and peering into them, “I need to find the key.”

At the enticement of a mystery, Trixie and Delia scrambled up to examine the drawer in question. It was a lower one on the desk, not used often, and the lock didn’t appear to be worn at all.

Trixie clucked her tongue sadly, “Well, this looks terribly old, Patsy…I don’t believe we’ll have any luck finding the key.”

Patsy’s face fell.

“Do you know what could be in it?” the blonde asked curiously.

“I have an idea,” Patsy breathed, though she didn’t share what that was. Delia gazed at Patsy softly for a moment before wordlessly raising up and leaving the room. Patsy glanced up, bewildered as the brunette disappeared out of the room.

“Delia?” Patsy called anxiously, though there was no answer.

“She’s probably making some tea…you know we’ve been up here with no refreshments…or lunch for that matter!” Trixie scoffed.

Several moments later, Delia returned, wielding a hammer and a screwdriver to their surprise.

“Do you mind if we have to bust it?” Delia asked. 

Patsy vigorously shook her head and scrambled out of the way as her girlfriend knelt down and inserted the screwdriver into the lock and began to tap it with the hammer. After a moment, the brunette tried the drawer, and it gave way, though she did not open it all the way. Instead, she gestured for the ginger to take a crack at it.

Patsy shuffled forward and tugged it open, and the women gathered around to see a small pile of yellowed papers nestled inside. With trembling hands, Patsy lifted them up and turned them over, releasing a strangled gasp as she inspected the documents.

They were original birth certificates.

*****^*****

“Well, it’s getting pretty late…” Trixie said suggestively, setting down a box of papers they had went through. Patsy and Delia shared a knowing look.

“I should stay…I need to clean out the fridge,” Patsy explained ruefully.

“I can help, I have the day off tomorrow as well,” Delia offered casually.

Trixie looked at the two of them and huffed. She did not have the day off tomorrow, and her patience was running thin due to lack of food.

“Well, alright, I guess I’ll leave you two to it,” Trixie sniffed, bending down and grabbing her coat. 

They said their farewells and soon Delia and Patsy were left alone in the large flat.

*****^*****

“Hungry?” Patsy asked softly, her fingers knitting into Delia’s. 

“Famished,” Delia said with a soft smile. They meandered back into the kitchen in silence, Delia gazing up in awe as they made their way. Delia seated herself on a stool and watched as Patsy began to set out a pan and sifted through the fridge.

“Omelet?” Patsy suggested, glancing back at Delia.

“Sounds delicious,” Delia approved.

Patsy set out eggs and cheese before she began to crack open the eggs and plop them into a silver mixing bowl. Delia observed silently as she whisked four eggs up briskly before setting the bowl aside and turning on the stove and buttering the pan. In the silence that followed, Patsy stared down at the pan, lost in thought.

“Thank you,” Patsy whispered softly. Delia stirred; she had been waiting for this.

“For what, cariad?” the brunette asked gently.

Patsy fidgeted, placing her hand several inches above the pan as she tested its temperature. Deeming it too cool, she dropped her hand.

“For putting up with me,” Patsy mumbled to the stove.

“I love ‘putting up with you’,” Delia jibed light-heartedly, making Patsy look away from her.

“Pats…” Delia sighed, “It’s okay-”

“No it’s not,” Patsy cut across bitterly, “It’s not okay that I’m always the one holding us back…you always have to be the one picking up the pieces.”

“Patsy,” Delia said gently, dropping down from her stool to wrap her arms around the other, “I don’t care, sweetie, I love you and that is all that matters. I wouldn’t want you any other way.”

Patsy smiled morosely at her girlfriend before hugging her back tightly and pecking her on her hair.

“Okay,” the ginger said brightly, “what cheese do you want?”

*****^*****

Delia swiped her mouth after taking a swig of her milk, feeling oddly like a child again. Patsy ate placidly next to her, chewing thoughtfully on her omelet.

“Pats…” Delia began questionably.

“Hmm?” 

“What…why was Carla yelling at you?”

Patsy sighed theatrically before muttering about ‘damn voodoo’.

“When I was younger, Carla caught me kissing a girl from school,” Patsy said dismissively, “I must have been seventeen, and she believes that I’m possessed by some sort of evil spirit.”

“Oh…Pats!” Delia exclaimed sympathetically. For a moment there was silence, but then Patsy gave Delia one of her side-glances and they burst out laughing.

Attempting to control her mirth, Delia laughed into her napkin.

Sighing heavily, they lapsed into a comfortable silence once more.

“Patsy…what are you going to do with this flat?” Delia asked idly, though there was a hopeful suggestion in her tone. Patsy fixed her girlfriend with a stern look.

“No, Delia,” Patsy murmured softly, “I’ve thought about it, but no, not now.”

Delia traced along the tablecloth idly.

“Why?”

Patsy reached across and grasped Delia’s wondering hand.

“Because we are needed in Poplar,” Patsy said earnestly, “I can rent this out for a good sum of money, and we can save up; either to move into another flat or move back here and purchase something nice.”

“When would that be?” Delia inquired softly, squeezing Patsy’s hand.

“For as long as we can last there,” Patsy said with an amused glint in her eye, “and not tear down the walls, Miss Busby.”

“That is very cheeky, coming from a woman who has taken me to bed out of wedlock,” Delia sniffed dramatically, “Oh, my innocence!”

“You have no innocence,” Patsy scoffed, grinning playfully, “If I remember correctly, it was YOU who persuaded me into joining you that night.”

“Oh, dear, you’re right!” Delia exclaimed, slapping her hand on her forehead theatrically, “How could I forget?!” 

They dissolved into giggles before clearing away the dishes and somehow making it up into the guest bedroom while wriggling out of their clothes and casting them away.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Carla was basically accusing Patsy of being possessed by some sort of Sappho-demon and said that she would pray for Delia's soul to be saved because Patsy's was long gone.


	10. New Beginnings

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> These next few chapters are going to be Trixie-licious! I hope you enjoy, please let me know what you think!

Delia sipped her drink after a heavy sigh that did not go unnoticed by Trixie, who sat placidly next to her at their table. The short brunette, who had found that her night off did not coincide with her girlfriend’s for once, had been goaded into joining Trixie at a bar, with promises of a band being there.

While that was all fine and dandy, Trixie kept on trying to engage Delia in a topic that the Welshwoman tended to avoid at all costs; men. The blonde woman made idle observations about the strange creatures around them, in which Delia knew she should respond but didn’t exactly know how. 

In fact, the blonde was about to open her mouth again when Delia interrupted her.

“Oh dear, would you like some more lemon water?” Delia asked hurriedly, “I’ve just finished my drink, I could run up to the bar and get you one.”

“Oh…okay, yes, how terribly kind of you,” Trixie stammered, looking slightly perplexed at Delia’s rushed manner. Delia nodded and quickly scrambled up, just as a few men mounted the stage. As she skirted the other tables towards the back, she heard a young man breath in a surprisingly deep voice into the microphone.

“Hello, I’m Bernard Hernstad, and we’re going sing some deep Blues tonight.”

His voice trembled slightly and there was a quaver of nervousness as he spoke and Delia silently mused of how she felt for him, worried that it might carry into his performance.

Delia placed her order, getting herself a stiff whiskey, before turning and placing her elbows on the bar, facing the stage. From far away, the young man in question stood in a dark grey trench coat, a scarf bundled around his neck. His voluminous hair was brushed back though a few strands stood straight up at odd angles. 

Bernard strummed a chord on his guitar.

“This is ‘Fire’,” he added, almost as an afterthought.

The drums were struck and the young man leaned back as they began to build a melody, before lurching forward and singing in an emotional, yet strangled voice.  
Delia raised her eyebrows in surprise. His voice still quavered, but it was GOOD. He reached a pitch so low that it thrummed in her chest and the whole room watched, transfixed as the chorus came around and his voice grew stronger and lurched with emotion.

Paying for her drinks, Delia picked them up and made her way back to their seats, not knowing that Bernard had spotted her movement and watched her sit next to Trixie.  
Trixie sipped her drink wordlessly as she scrutinized the man on stage, Delia beginning to thoroughly enjoy herself. When the song ended, the room erupted in applause, the brunette clapping eagerly along with them. Trixie clapped once, twice, three times and then returned to her drink.

Delia frowned.

“That was great, don’t you think?” Delia asked idly.

“He was okay…” Trixie said slowly.

“‘Okay’?” Delia demanded dubiously, “He nailed that!”

Trixie shrugged noncommittedly as the man smiled at the crowd, readjusting his shoulder strap. 

“Thank you…now this is a song called ‘Dreams’,” he said.

Bernard performed several songs, enthralling the whole crowd…except for Trixie.

The blonde woman would sigh dejectedly into her drink after each song, and when show drew to a close, they sat a moment to let other people out before risking joining the throng of people. Delia downed her drink as Trixie announced she was going to the restroom.

Delia nodded and rose up, stretching slightly before slipping her coat on. Suppressing a yawn, she plucked up her purse and idly waited for Trixie to get back.

“Hey, good job!”

“Yeah, you were great!”

Delia looked up and saw the singer making his way through the crowd, seeming to try and get to the bar.

“Thank you, thank you,” he said, shaking various hands and plowing on towards Delia, which she thought was odd. She went to step away, to give him some space, but to her shock, he stopped right in front of her.

Delia gave him a wary look and took a tentative step back. Yes, she thought he was good, but no, she was most definitely not interested.

He looked around her and then cleared his throat.

“Hi…um, were you here, with a friend?” he asked shyly, though his eyes were dark and piercing. Delia blinked.

“Short, blonde hair?” Delia queried.

“Yes, sounds like her,” he responded, running his hand through his slightly sodden hair. Sweat had gathered on his brow.

“She’s just gone to the restroom, I’m waiting for her,” Delia said, hiding a smirk. This was playing out oddly.

“Shall I wait with you?”

“You may…My name is Delia, by the way,” Delia said, extending her hand hurriedly.

“Bernard; please, call me Barney,” Barney said with a quirky grin.

“Alright. May I know way you are asking after my friend, Barney?” Delia inquired suspiciously.

Barney shrugged, though Delia could see the slight blush on his cheeks.

“Oh, I don’t know, I guess to just say ‘hi’.”

“I see,” Delia said evenly, fiddling with her purse straps. This was remarkably awkward.

Thankfully, Trixie appeared once more, her eyes cast down as she maneuvered the tables, making her way towards Delia. She glanced up and almost appeared to balk at the sight of Barney next to the Welshwoman.

“Trixie!” Delia said loudly, hooking her in by calling her name. Ruefully, the blonde seemed to bite back a retort before marching up to the pair. Delia grinned mischievously.

“Well, Barney, this is Trixie; Trixie, this is Barney,” Delia said, rocking back on her heels.

“Hi,” Barney said rather breathlessly, extending his hand towards the blonde. Trixie glanced at it before gently shaking it.

“Hello,” Trixie responded, seeming to examine Barney for the first time.

Delia smirked to herself as she began to back away, though still in relative earshot. She saw the blush reddening Trixie’s cheeks.

“I, uh, noticed you from the stage,” Barney stammered, “and I was wondering if…if maybe you would like to go get some drinks later.”

“Oh, that would be lovely,” Trixie murmured back, looking trouble but touched, “but you see, I don’t drink.”

“A movie, then,” he said persistently, “or dinner…or lunch…some sort of meal.”

Delia had to muffle her sounds of laughter, forced to compare his advancements with a certain red head in her life.

“Alright,” Trixie chuckled, “A movie sounds splendid…how’s about you ring me tomorrow and we can talk about it?”

“Okay,” Barney said.

Trixie gave him the number for Nonnatus House, warning him about how it was a communal living space with midwives and that he needed to ask for her by name. They left with an awkward little wave as they exited the venue.

Delia couldn’t hold it in anymore.

She laughed heartedly while Trixie gazed at her disdainfully.

“Yeah, it’s just SO funny,” the blonde muttered hotly.

“I’m sorry, Trixie, just…oh, it was so funny!”

Trixie hailed a cab and threatened Delia with the fare if she didn’t shut it.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> See also: "Fire" by Barns Courtney and "Dreams" by Beck


	11. New Beginnings (Part 2)

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Trixie arranges a date, and the rest of the nurses naturally eavesdrop

“No, Delia is NOT going to be the banker this time,” Patsy said hotly, much to Barbara and Delia’s dismay as she set out the monopoly board. 

“But she was so good at it last time,” Barbara whined. Delia flashed the other woman a grateful smile.

“That’s because she was slanting money your way,” Patsy said sourly, recalling how the pair had formed sort of business coalition the last time they played, “And she also cheated.”

“I most certainly did NOT,” Delia retorted, seating herself across the table.

“You cheat at every game we play,” Trixie pointed out, lighting a cigarette.

Delia appeared to have difficulty with not smiling at this as Phyllis seated herself next to her.

“How’s about Nurse Crane plays the banker; she’ll be an independent third party,” Trixie suggested.

“It will work until I go out on a call,” Phyllis said, sipping her tea. They began to divide up the pieces, Phyllis beginning to organize her stacks of play-money.

Patsy went to roll, when the phone began to ring. They all groaned as Phyllis shot them an apologetic look as she stood, chair legs scraping on the floor.

“Dear Lord,” Trixie said, “Patsy, will YOU be the banker?”

“I’m always the banker!” Patsy sighed mutinously, though she rose to take Nurse Crane’s abandoned chair.

To their surprise, Phyllis came floating back into the room, a sly smile on her face.

“Nurse Franklin, there is a phone call for you.” Phyllis said airily. The collection of midwives all turned to gawk at the blonde.

“…Oh!” Trixie exclaimed, standing up and rising out of the room. The moment she disappeared, the remaining four all looked at each other before jumping up and dashing into the kitchen to eavesdrop.

“Ow!”

“Oh, shush!”

“Be quiet!”

“Shh!”

After a lot of jostling, poor Delia had ended up crouched down on the floor, Patsy leaning over her as Phyllis and Barbara stood on the other side of the doorway, ears pressed to the wall. From there vantage point, Patsy and Delia could observe Trixie’s hand gestures, as long as the blonde didn’t turn and see them, of course.

“Hello?” Trixie asked into the phone.

“Oh, hi Barney.”

Delia suppressed a giggle.

“Yes…oh! Well that sounds splendid!”

The four in the kitchen all shared a scandalous look.

“Mmhmm… This Saturday at seven? Yes, that’s fine…Nonnatus House, Poplar. Yes. Okay, see you soon!”

Trixie hung up the phone, appearing lost in thought. She turned to go back to the dining room.

With a soft exclamation, the four all scrambled up to beat her there, but they all ran into each other at the door when they spotted Trixie was already there, smoking her cigarette airily. She sighed heavily at the sight of them in the doorway.

“If you guys wanted to hear about my date, you should have just asked,” Trixie pointed out casually.

“So it IS a date?!” Barbara exclaimed gleefully as they all reclaimed their seats.

“Yes,” Trixie said.

“What does he look like?” Patsy asked idly, though she already knew, Delia relaying the whole story to her the night they met.

“Like he belongs in the fifties,” Trixie responded, “Average height, brown hair, blue eyes.”

“Where are you going?” Phyllis asked curiously.

“Some musical club he goes to,” Trixie said thoughtfully, “Though, he won’t be performing.”

“He performs?” Barbara asked, looking in awe.

“Yes, but he’s quite the amateur,” Trixie said, making Delia frown slightly, “Now, why don’t we play this game?”


	12. In the Name of Love

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Patsy is terribly sick, partial comedy, partial drama.
> 
> I'll be completely honest and say I didn't post this chapter for a good few weeks because I didn't know how to feel about it; so here goes nothing.
> 
> Please Enjoy!

Patsy had lost her dignity.

In a single moment, every ounce of respect she had for herself was blasted away, like fallen leaves before a gale-force wind. 

She had gone to bed with a slight stomachache, though she was quick to believe it was nothing, and therefore thought nothing of it.

Oh, how wrong she was.

To say the least, within the span it took her to leap out of bed at one in the morning and make a mad dash for the toilet, Patsy had successfully defiled the bathroom. 

Completely and utterly defiled it.

As she sat on the toilet, in a half delirious state and holding a trash can on her lap, Patsy for the first time understood exactly what her former patients went through on the abdominal ward on Men’s Surgical. She had absolutely no control over her bowel movements, try as she did to preserve the state of the communal loo. Her stomach felt as if it were trying to purge itself from her body, making for a total mess of dry heaves after a substantial amount of vomit was thrown up. Blinded slightly by indignant tears, Patsy surveyed the bathroom in a state of silent doom, wondering how on earth she was going to clean up such an atrocity.

Much to her horror, there was a cautious knock on the door.

“Hello, Patsy? Is everything alright?” came Trixie’s worried voice.

Naturally, Patsy blurted through angry tears, “Go away!”

The doorknob automatically turned, Patsy having been in too much of a hurry to lock it.

“Trixie, I said go away!” Patsy whimpered, fighting off another urge to vomit.

Which of course, made the other trained nurse feel justified in intruding.

Trixie opened the door, and her eyes automatically fell onto the defiled floor, and her jaw dropped.

“Oh…Oh my gosh, Patsy! Are quite alright?!” Trixie gasped.

“Does it look like I’m alright?!” Patsy nearly shrieked back before ducking her head back down and vomiting again into the trashcan.

The redhead distinctly heard Trixie dash away, and she felt her heart sink rapidly with dread. There was no way the blonde was going to be discreet about this.

What Patsy did not anticipate was Trixie going swiftly to Nurse Busby’s door and rapping gently on it. Delia cracked open the door and peered at Trixie in both confusion and mild irritation.

“What the bloody hell do you want?” Delia mumbled, rubbing an eye with the back of her hand.

“I’m very sorry Delia,” Trixie said earnestly, “But its Patsy, she’s been dreadfully sick…made an absolute mess of the bathroom.”

“What?!” Delia exclaimed.

“You…you’ll just have to see for yourself,” Trixie said with a wince.

The two returned to the scene of defilement, where Patsy was still on the toilet, clutching her trashcan, swaying slightly in delirium and shock.

“Pats!” Delia exclaimed softly from the door before carefully stepping into the bathroom over unspeakable bodily fluids.

“Deels,” Patsy hiccupped, her face streaked with tears, “Delia, I…I shit myself, I bloody shit myself, I couldn’t help it, oh my God…”

“I can see that, sweetie,” Delia soothed, having made it across the rest of the bathroom safely, “Can you…are you…done?”

“Don’t look at me!” Patsy wept shamefully, turning away from Delia’s concerned expression.

With a sigh, Delia turned back to Trixie.

“Can you fetch a mop and clean this up? I need to get her in a bath,” Delia asked politely, in which Trixie wordlessly nodded and disappeared into the hallway.

“C’mon, Pats,” Delia murmured gently, trying to pry the vomit-laden trashcan from Patsy’s grip.

“No,” Patsy whispered, “What if I get sick again?”

“Do you feel like you will?” Delia inquired softly.

There was a dramatic pause before Patsy slowly shook her head ‘no’. 

“Okay, cariad, then let’s get these clothes off,” Delia suggested, having successfully tugged the bin away from her girlfriend.

“No Deels! Whatever for?!” Patsy exclaimed bitterly. Delia took pause before leaning forward and gazing into Patsy’s glassy eyes. The Welshwoman frowned before pressing the back of her hand on Patsy’s forehead and releasing a gasp.

“Patsy, you are burning up! Oh, cariad, this is probably the flu!” Delia admonished gently, trying to catch Patsy’s gaze with her own, “Darling, we need to get you out of these clothes and into a bath!”

Delia clasped Patsy’s hands and went to tug her up when the red head pleaded with great angst, “Don’t look.”

Rolling her eyes with exasperation, Delia promised she wouldn’t as she nimbly escorted Patsy out of the loo and a bit down the hall, into the bathroom. The Welshwoman sat Patsy down on the ledge before running the tap, the hot steam enveloping the couple momentarily. Delia shot worried glances at Patsy, who sat there dejectedly staring at her hands. When the water level was sufficient, Delia gently began to undo the buttons of Patsy’s night shirt. She then slipped the garment off the red head’s shoulders before nudging her to stand, which Patsy obeyed, like a scolded child would. After tugging her pants down, Delia took Patsy’s elbow in hand.

“C’mon, cariad,” the Welshwoman coaxed gently. Patsy took a tentative step into the tub and sucked in a breath.

“I know, Pats, just give it a moment,” Delia crooned as Patsy maneuvered her other foot into the tub. Leaving the ginger for a moment to adjust to the temperature, Delia bent down and discreetly scooped up the soiled clothes and placed them by the door. Returning, Delia grasped Patsy’s elbow once more and helped her ease down into the tub.

Patsy made a face as she pulled her knees up to her chest and laid her head on her knees, appearing self-conscious in her state of undress.

Wordlessly, Delia reached for a sponge, dipped it into the water, and rubbed a bar of soap into it, lathering it up. The brunette knelt down next to the tub and then began to gently stroke it along Patsy’s bare back.

“You are so pale, darling,” Delia whispered sadly.

“I…I shit myself,” Patsy repeated hoarsely, “Like a little kid, Deels, I couldn’t…It just happened.”

“Pats, don’t worry about it,” Delia pleaded gently, “It’s okay, you’re sick, there was nothing you could do.”

The ginger went silent as Delia continued her ministrations, working the sponge over Patsy’s arms and gently prying them loose so she could wash her forearms and hands. 

Delia went to begin rinsing when Patsy spoke again.

“It…it was like, back at the camp…” Patsy whispered, almost to herself. Delia froze, and for a moment the only sound was dripping water.

“…people would get so sick…” Patsy mumbled, staring into the bathwater, as if in a trance.

Biting her lip, Delia ran some water over Patsy’s back, her fingers pressing gently into the ginger’s shoulders.

“Pats,” Delia whispered gently, taking her hand and rinsing off Patsy’s arms. The ginger jerked slightly, her eyes still glassy as she gazed at Delia.

“Huh?”

“How do you feel?”

“Cold,” Patsy whispered back, a tremor running over her body.

“Alright, hang on cariad,” Delia soothed. She rose up and gathered up some towels as Patsy cautiously stood in the tub. The brunette wrapped a towel around her and helped her out of the tub when a gentle tap echoed on the door.

Leaving Patsy trembling slightly in the middle of the room, Delia went to the door and cracked it open.

“I’ve brought some fresh clothes for her,” Trixie whispered, pressing a bundle into Delia’s hands, “How is she?”

“I think she might have the stomach flu,” Delia whispered, “We’ll have to ring for Dr. Turner in the morning. How was the loo?”

A visible shudder went through Trixie.

“It’s…clean now,” Trixie mumbled, “I think it would be best if no one knows about what happened in there.”

Delia quickly nodded in agreement, thanked Trixie, and shut the door.

Approaching Patsy, she unfolded the clothes and helped Patsy into them.

The brunette guided Patsy into the hallway and then through to her own room.

“Deels,” Patsy slurred slightly on the way, “I’m cold.”

“I know you are, sweetie, you need a good cwtch,” Delia soothed, tugging Patsy into her room.

“A cwtch? What’s a cwtch?” Patsy asked dubiously, teetering slightly before Delia gently sat her on the bed.

“Cariad, we’ve been over this,” Delia chided gently, “Do you not remember?”

“No,” Patsy said, her eyelids fluttering, heavy with exhaustion.

“A cwtch is a gesture of love and affection,” Delia said intoned gently as she pressed Patsy down underneath the covers and began to tuck her in, “a hug, if you will, that makes you feel safe and loved.”

“Cwtch’s sound nice,” Patsy mumbled as Delia made sure the ginger was underneath all of the blankets, “I want a cwtch.”

“And you shall have one, in a moment cariad,” Delia murmured, “Let me go get a basin just in case you feel sick again.”

Delia tip-toed down the stairs and filled a pitcher of cold water before grabbing a cloth and an empty basin. She returned to her room and set the things on the nightstand as Patsy began to sink further into her delirium. 

“Delia, why am I in your room?” Patsy demanded.

“Because it is closest to the bathroom,” Delia replied evenly, soaking the cloth in the cold water. She wrung out the excess and gently placed it on Patsy’s fevered forehead.

“I’m cold!” Patsy complained, feebly trying to push it away, though she was no match for the Welshwoman.

“I know you are, but you have a raging fever Pats, we need to cool at least your head,” Delia crooned before walking around the bed and slipping underneath the covers next to Patsy. Delia wrapped her arms around Patsy and drew her close, in which the red head instinctively nuzzled the other, pulling their bodies flush together. Delia rubbed her thumb into Patsy’s back and lightly kissed the top of her red hair.

“Deels?” Patsy mumbled, her voice muffled against Delia’s neck and full of sleep.

“Yes, Pats?” 

“Is this what a cwtch is?”

“Yes, cariad, yes, it is,” Delia murmured back. After a pause, Patsy sighed and relaxed completely into Delia’s arms.

A few moments went by.

“Patsy,” Delia mumbled in the dimness.

“Hmm?”

“I swear to God, if you shit yourself again…”

**Author's Note:**

> Please leave a comment, let me know if you liked it!


End file.
